r-l-w-c: all wrapped up in a big black and white bow

November 25th, 2008

Pic: Steve Christo

The Rugby League World Cup is officially over. The final’s been decided.  The boys are all back home either being lauded by the public or eating Easy Mac n Cheese to ease their disappointment.  You can decide for yourselves who is doing what.

They’ve given out the trophy and all the participation certificates for the players’ mums to put on the fridge.  Almost time to put on your Peter Wynn’s Rugby League pyjamas and go into footy hibernation for the summer.  But first, one more r-l-w-c wrap-up.  I warn you in advance that this one is going to be weird.  I feel weird already.  It’s not even the usual feeling funny in my pants, which is pretty much my default state and I’ve kinda gotten used to it.

For one thing: Australia Didn’t Win.  The almost-unbackable favourites, the World Cup juggernauts, the team you love to hate … lost.

zomg I know! I can’t believe it either, eh!

Believe me kittens, I was as shocked as you were.  Shocked and overjoyed. Just like Benji Marshall. I said last week I didn’t know who to cheer for, but after seeing the victorious Kiwis leap around like overjoyed schoolchildren I realise I was totally TEAM KIWI the whole time.

Pic: Steve Christo

My head said it didn’t know, but my heart was painted black and white for this game.  What can I say?  I think some part of me just loves seeing an underdog succeed.

I also love that the Kiwis celebrate by drinking beer shirtless. THAT’S HOW I CELEBRATE TOO! It’s why they won’t let me have my birthday in public venues anymore.

Is it possible that I also just enjoy seeing Queenslanders look disappointed?  WELL MAYBE.  AND IS THAT SO WRONG? It probably is, but whatever.

Clearly it’s not completely abnormal to take pleasure from other people’s misery.  If it was, the Germans wouldn’t have bothered to make up a word for it, would they?  Hmmmmm?

And in case the whole 34-20 New Zealand win wasn’t surprising enough for you, I actually have stuff to say about FOOTBALL today.  For serious.  Not just about their hair (well maybe a little bit), or their uniforms, but stuff about what the boys do with the ball (heh, ball).   Let’s get started before I sober up and change my mind.


So I think we all know I’m not Billy Slater’s biggest cheerleader.  I have said less than flattering things about him in the past for a variety of reasons, including but not limited to:

a) Accusing Flossy Nightingale of headbutting him;

b) Playing for the Storm (booo, hisssss);


c) Being a dirty Queenslander.

Also, sometimes I just irrationally dislike public sporting figures.  Obviously Billy, like Roger Federer and Karmichael Hunt, has never done anything to me personally. Everyone tells me he is the Loveliest Man Ever and they are probably right. Nonetheless, I Decided to dislike him for no particular reason. It’s my way.

But Billy is getting a bitch of a rap in the media at the moment, and I WILL NOT STAND FOR IT.  Clearly my love of truth outweighs any silly Slater vendetta.  I’m pretty much Tom Cruise in A Few Good Men.

Except, you know, without the stuff that came afterwards, like the booster shoes and the Scientology and the child-bride.

You see, according to the Herald, a “Billy Slater moment of madness” cost Australia the World Cup.

They mean, of course, that Slater threw a blind pass in from the sideline trying to run the ball back upfield, and it fell into the loving arms of Benji Marshall for a try.  Benji’d been loitering around to Billy’s left instead of jumping back to defend against the oncoming Aussies … and I don’t know whether that makes Benji Marshall an excellent reader of the play, or just a bit out of shape and too tired to get back in defence, but either way it all ended badly.

And yes, it was a really stupid pass.  If I had more energy I would have been frustrated to the point of heartbreak watching it, like I was when Jarryd ‘Baby’ Hayne did the same thing in Origin.  NOOO BABY HAYNE, NOOOOO!

I totally just had a flashback then and bumped my head on the desk. That game was horrifying.

But you know what?  That’s just Billy Slater doin what Billy Slater does, isn’t it?

…oh, he’s just bein’ Billy.*
Pic: Steve Christo

My theory is that if you want a safety-times conservatively-programmed early-days Darren Lockyer kinda fullback, you don’t pick Billy Slater.

Bitch is … a risk-taker.  Some people might say ‘a showpony’, but that’s not really it. More like some fullbacks do predictable things … and Billy Slater doesn’t. He sets up ridiculous and amazing plays out of pretty much nothing. He likes it. And it seems like he likes dramatical individual plays more than anything.

Yes, he does things that might turn into massive fuck-ups, but most of the time they work.  (This, of course, is also part of the reason I can’t stand him. Damn you Queenslanders for being so good!)

So basically most of the time the people (cept the Oh Errol kids) love him. For every other game in the tournament, it has been a full-on Billy Slater soggy sao love-in.  BILLY THE KID! FASTEST GUN IN THE WEST! BEST FULLBACK IN THE WORLD!

Bitches couldn’t get enough of him.  Maybe that imagery was a little bit crude.  But whatever.  You know what I mean.  Everyone was all over Billy Slater and It was really fucking annoying.

But now as soon as he gives away a try he’s reckless Billy the Kid who can’t defend and doesn’t deserve to be in the team.  I might believe y’all about that if he hadn’t just received the player of the tournament award.  Clearly no one thought he was doing so badly in all the other games the Aussies played.

He also got unfairly labelled Billy the Choker who can’t step up in big games (cf the Storm losing the Grand Final). And I would believe y’all about this if he didn’t set up two tries in the first half. It takes a whole team to win/lose a gf, right?

Basically – I CALL BULLSHIT.  Yeah he made one mistake, but bitch didn’t single-handedly lose the game. You can’t be all over him then change your mind all of a sudden. It’s only cute when I am irrational and change my mind and go from loving to hating a footy player in a matter of hours.  Like the way I’m now defending Billy Slater. DON’T YOU MESS WITH HIM, OK? I GOTS HIS BACK.

And that’s all I have to say about that.  I feel all queasy.  I CAN’T BELIEVE I STUCK UP FOR BILLY SLATER.  Someone get the Dettol bath ready cause I need one … stat.


Since I’m already busting Billy Slater out of media jail today, I’ve decided I’m takin’ Joel Mongahan with me.  WHY DO PEOPLE ALWAYS BLAME THE RANGA?

Pic: Steve Christo

Ok, um, what exactly did Monas do wrong?  He got a bad bounce, decided to go the professional foul, and the Kiwis got a penalty try.  As opposed to … Hohaia just scoring the try? Which, incidentally, it totally looks like he would have, at least if you ask me and the video ref.

Call me crazy but I don’t see the difference. Maybe he moved the conversion to the center for an easier shot at the extra 2 points but two points weren’t gonna save the Kangaroos.  In the end I think it comes down to lackluster defence. Lackluster defence from the Australian team, who seemed that way from the start of the game.  Just kind of … surprised by how the NZ team played and on the whole pretty unfocussed.  And every try the Kiwis scored chipped away at that a bit more, not just the ones that Monaghan or Slater were ‘responsible’ for.

It also seems vaguely arrogant when people try and pin the loss on one individual Aussie, as though the Kiwi’s couldn’t have won it, the Aussies had to lose.  The Kiwis  had so much passion, those kids deserved it.

And didn’t those bitches have hustle?  Right up the middle of the field where the Aussies weren’t expecting it.  I like to think they foxed the first snorefest of a game against Australia just so they could build up to this.  I believe Wayne Bennett would be that crafty.

But whatevs. I think I’ve ranted enough.  Let’s just say for both sides there’s a reason they call it a team sport.  Also, the New Zealanders gave 110%, and took it one play at a time, and the best side won on the day.  Or something.

Let’s also say to Ricky Stuart and his conspiracy theories just no.  Really, honey, no.  Let it go.  There is a chapter in my etiquette book about losing World Cup finals and it specifically recommends against suggesting that there was a conspiracy against you.  For reals.

And to Billy and Joel: if you’re feelin down, call me.  Let’s go to the pub and you two can drown your sorrows and get blind and wave your fruity cocktails in the air for emphasis as you slur ‘THEY DON’T EVEN KNOW ME. THOSHE BITCHES DON’T KNOWWW ME.’


It’ll be quick. I promise. All I really have to say is that Dave Williams is taking this ‘Wolfman’ image really, really seriously. Like woah. As in, I suspect someone has been watching X-Men and grooming their mutton chops to look like Hugh Jackman’s.  And all that volume in the back of the hair … so Wolvy.  Get it?  WOLVERINE?  You know it’s true.

Camera one … are you getting this?

Don’t worry Dave. Secretly, sometimes, we all pretend we’re movie stars.

What, so I’m not on mark? A little to the right you say?

Like sometimes I prance around the house when no one’s home imagining I’m Dolly Parton in the Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.  True story.

And with that completely random confession, it’s goodbye World Cup.  See ya in four years, bitches.

* Just by the way, if you were a Miley Cyrus fan you would find that HILARIOUS.

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r-l-w-c: enter the ranga

November 21st, 2008

We have a new favourite journalist over at Errol.  A proper journalist too!  Not a *cough*journalist *cough* like us.  Let me explain.

So we’ve mentioned before, many times, and in great detail, that we feel … awkward about the Australian World Cup team.  ‘Awkward’ in the sense of ‘we don’t like them’.  SORRY.  WE JUST DON’T. 

But even though we can’t cheer for them we still have our faves in the squad, and finally one of them is getting the recognition he deserves.

… people are really talking about me?
Pic: Steve Christo

Kyle Mackey-Laws … well first of all, Kyle Mackey-Laws has a freaking amazing name. 

Kyle Mackey-Laws has also broken down the numbers to explain why Joel Monaghan is – as we suspected all along! HAH! – a legend.

If numbers are anything to go by, Canberra Raiders star Joel Monaghan is a certainty to live out a dream this week.

Monaghan has played in all four of the Kangaroos’ World Cup matches, and statistics released yesterday show he should be one of the first picked for Saturday’s final.

Monaghan has made the second most linebreaks behind Fiji’s Akuila Uate (10) with six, his four tries have him fifth on the try scoring list and he only trails teammate Paul Gallen (9) in offloads with eight.

We always knew Mona was the bidness.  We endured the suspicious looks all through Australia’s first game against New Zealand as we yelled out GO RANGA, GOOOOO! across the footy stadium.  We even nominated him in the Errol Awards.  And now we have have mathematical proof of his awesome.  YOU CAN’T ARGUE WITH NUMBERS.

If you are wondering, Kyle Mackey-Laws works for the Canberra Times. Not a national paper, the Canberra times.  Seriously, are we the only people outside the ACT who appreciate Monaghan, aside from that little kid with the GO RANGA sign at the footy stadium? 

Last week when our gorgeous publicist Marlo saw the Australian team at the Sydney airport and ducked over to accost Monghan and inform him that he is her favourite (he totally is), the rest of the Aussies responded with a chorus of ‘REALLY?’.  That is so depressing.

It’s a travesty, in fact.

So if the Kangaboos take out the Kiwis this weekend in the World Cup grand final, at least our mans Monaghan will get a bit of the glory.  It’s a small comfort.

Even though I can’t manage to muster up any excitement about this game, I am tres dedicated to you all, and I am going to put all my personal disdain aside to give you updates on the the two teams anyway.  I’m even going to do it now, despite the fact that it’s after 12pm on a Friday, which means according to my schedule I should already have transferred my phone line to Lachie’s desk and be making Champagne punch in the kitchen.  SEE WHAT I DO FOR YOU KITTENS? 

The Aussies have taken a slightly unconventional approach – I think inspired by Manly’s preparation for the NRL grand final – and rocked a little dance training:

One. Singular. Sensation.

A little Quiet Time:

… and for Christmas I want a World Cup and a pony.

And a little group bonding:


New Zealand have … ok I have no idea what they have been doing. Nothing interesting, I imagine, because they are New Zealanders. Is that offensive to Kiwis? It is, eh.

All I really need to know about their team is that Ruben Wiki mixes their Kava, because that is fantastic. It’s also true, because Manu Vatuvei told us so. I don’t believe a man with gold teeth would lie.

And so we lumber and faint into the end of the World Cup.  Kangaroos vs Kiwis, Maroon enemies vs Trans-Tasman enemies. 

May one of the teams win.  Or neither.  I don’t really care.


Aussie training pics: Getty Images

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r-l-w-c: all fun and games till someone gets poked in the eye

November 14th, 2008

Oh, kittens.  The Errol office is so sad at the moment.  It’s semi-finals time in the World Cup, which means that all the teams we met and fell in love with on the footy field are gradually packing up their bags of boomerang souvenirs and VB accessories and heading home.  

Papua New Guinea have been booted after coming fourth in the pool of death. Tonga and Samoa have taken their wardances and gone home. The Frenchies are returning to (a probably frosty reception in) France. Perhaps they can use their wooden spoon to make a nice souffle to cheer themselves up?  I hope so.

And Kiki is busy drying her tears at the moment, but once she manages to stop crying into the keyboard, she’ll also fill you kids in on the Errol trip to the Gold Coast to watch the Irish Wolfhounds play Fiji in the quarter finals, and saying goodbye to our adopted Irish team.  WE MISS YOU ALREADY BABIES.

Sif all that wasn’t bad enough, we also lost Errol favourite Corporal Campese from the Aussie team.

I feel so uncool.
Pic: Ian Hitchcock

In a tres dramatical incident, T Camp was poked in the eye by Neville Costigan in the Australia-PNG match, and had to bow out of the rest of the World Cup.  Poor baby could have gone blind.  I’m not even kidding.  A footy career ended by a poke in the eye.  YOU CAN’T MAKE THIS STUFF UP.  

So now it’s all come down to Australia (sans Terry), New Zealand, England … and Fiji.

It feels a bit like the end of holiday camp. All our friends’ parents have come and picked them up already, except because our mum is running late we’re left sitting on the steps with the kids we weren’t even friends with anyway.  Making awkward conversation about if we’re coming back next year, remembering how someone said they wet the bed and we kind of believe that they do.  Avoiding eye contact, exchanging email addresses even though we’re totally never gonna write to each other. 


I’ve think we all know by now I have a problem cheering for the Australian team. Not even seeing Toops and Fitzy on the bench can change that. And now that Baby Hayne has announced that playing for Fiji has changed his life and chased away his demons I am 100% team Fiji.  What’s not to love about a team that can make the semi-finals and provide informal therapy?

Are you there, God? It’s me, Baby Hayne.
Pic: Phil Hillyard

Remember how I called the World Cup a soap opera? Aside from a good demon possession, there was only one thing the cup was missing: a redemption arc, and someone finding God.  DING-DING-DING JACKPOT!  Thanks to Baby Hayne this is now officially the Most Dramatic World Cup Ever. I love it. GO BABY HAYNE, GO!

And really, how can you not love Fiji? This is the team that sings in harmony on the football field. Those bitches are talented.

They also freely admit to being unfit. ME TOO! Athletic ability is totally overrated.

Darren Lockyer says their biggest danger is that they play ad-lib in attack.  ME TOO!  Well, ok, not in ‘attack’ as such.  And not in any sports of any kind.  But I still think planning is totally overrated in general.  I care not for preparation and gameplans.

While we’re talking Locky, he also doesn’t seem to remember who’s in the Fijian team.  This worries me.  Are you feeling ok Darren, baby?  Just the other day you couldn’t remember who was in the English team either.  Has he taken more knocks to the head than I realised?

Pic: Peter Rae

If I’m not mistaken, Daz also turned up to the Fiji-Australia photocall without his shorts.  At least that’s what the Herald says.  Just look at the ones he had to borrow.  Are they … clown shorts? Oh my god, are they CULOTTES?  Green and gold culottes?  Maybe they had them made when they were making Steve Price’s custom green and gold bucket hats.

I am becoming a bit concerned actually that Darren may be losing his damn mind.  If someone doesn’t get him some Omega 3 and write the boy a list of who he plays for and what to bring to the game I honestly think he we might see him run out to play Fiji completely pantsless, play the ball backwards, then accidentally tackle Billy Slater. 

And if you think I’m a little harsh on Australia, I apologise.  I know Greg Inglis is all put out that the Kangaroos don’t get enough love

I think we thoroughly deserve the praise that we should be getting but we’re not.

Firstly, that sentence is intense. Is he using the subjunctive? I think he may have created some new kind of grammatical structure.

But also, I’m sorry, Gregory. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, even though you chose to become a dirty Queenslander. You’re right. It is a little bit unfair. And it is a little bit to do with the team being so good.

The Kangaroos are the Roger Federer of rugby league. Too professional, too efficient, too … Swiss. Footy is all about emotion, and the Aussies just don’t give me any at the moment.

But now that I’ve said that … suck it up Inglis. SUCK IT UP. You’re about to (probably) win a World Cup.   You’ve won a premiership and an Origin series. People have called you the best player in Australia.  Um, what more do you want, mate?  So a few people think the team’s boring. At least you didn’t get POKED IN THE EYE.

There is far too much whinging going on and I don’t loike it. Inglis thinks no one loves him (in at least four tenses). England hate the refs. Ade Gardner hates the grapple (don’t we all?)  Benji Marshall is all offended that the English turned their back on the Haka.


Can’t we all just take a leaf out of Flossy Nightingale and Sam Perrett’s dayplanner and have a nice waterslide?

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r-l-w-c w-r-a-p: go you irish, go!

November 9th, 2008

So I have an apology to make. There has been no World Cup news from me for aaaages, and I’m sorry kittens. I know, I know, you’re all jonesing. But you see I have been extremely busy doing Important and Urgent things, like giving myself pedicures, buying spangly cardigans from St Vincent de Paul, and getting drunk and going to see Richard E. Grant in My Fair Lady. By the way yes, I LIKE MUSICALS. MUSICALS AND RUGBY LEAGUE. I’m pretty much a renaissance woman.

And now cause I’m sleepy from sunbaking, let’s just go over the important bits, shall we?


New Zealand played England. Australia played England. England lost. Twice. And the truth is … we didn’t really care.  About any of them.

But I’m kinda starting to think maybe someone has tipped off the Aussie team in particular that the kids here at Errol HQ care not for the Kangaroos, because it seems like those bitches have been working overtime to win us back.

After trying to lure us back by pimping out the adorableness of Prince Scotty the Caramel on the field (… almost worked, but not quite. HI SCOTTY!), they upped the lovable factor by naming Terry Campese in the squad to play Papua New Guinea tonight. Or, as we like to call him, Corporal Campese of the Light Horse.

When we suggested Terry can rock a hat, this isn’t what we had in mind.

And in what is kind of like the footy equivalent of sewing knives in your suit sleeves or hitting below the belt in boxing, then those crafty bitches went and did this:


Damn you Kangaroos! LOOK HOW CUTE THAT IS. Four Kangaroos cruisin’ around in their tiny pink jeep, like Derek Zoolander and his freewheeling model pals. Drinking orange mocha frappaccinos. Singing to Wham, frolicking in petrol stations.

The only difference is that I’m pretty sure that little pink Jeepy, or mini-moke, or whatever those crazy Queensland folk call it, is working a wholllle lot harder than Derek Zoolander’s Jeep.  That poor little engine is pushing around four International league forwards.  WON’T SOMEBODY THINK OF THE CARBON EMISSIONS?  In other news, is Brent Kite throwing gang signs? For serious?

Either way, I’m almost starting to … care. This is horrifying. But fear not children, everything will be ok. Just trust Aunty Sassy and look at the Queenslanders. FOCUS ON THE QUEENSLANDERS.

… gasoline fight!

ABORT ABORT! Ok, I’m back to mild distaste and indifference now. That’s more like it. Let’s have a quick gin and get back to things we actually care about.


We’ve been on Team Wolfhound since the World Cup started, and now that the Irish boys have decimated Samoa and topped their pool, everyone else is too. ABOUT TIME, BITCHES. You know it’s lonely out here sometimes, being totally cutting edge like we are. *flicks hair*

And WE ARE SO PROUD OF OUR MANS. Not just because that was some fucking entertaining footy, but because they had a blinder.  WE KNEW YOU COULD DO IT, BABIES.  Pat Richards grounded three tries, and kicked enough goals that I’m actually rethinking whether the Irish will have to bring in some kind of Priest to exorcise the bad spirits from his goal-kicking Leg of Doom.

As we suspected, Wayne Kerr is a foolproof good luck charm whenever he’s named in the team.  At the very least he has a 100% success rate so far.

And everyone’s favourite hot ginge (sorry, Prince Harry) Sean Gleeson almost made Kiki spill her drink in excitement when he ran in his try.  We’re only a lil bit sad that we couldn’t make the trek out to sit with the Blarney Army again.  We love those crazy kids.

Disclaimer: may not in fact be Sean Gleeson

I would love to analyse the game for you, but I was a little nervous on the boys’ behalf, and I may have been drunk SO THIS IS WHAT YOU GET. And the end result is that Lozzy and Kiki are jetting up to the Gold Coast on Monday night to watch the Errol-approved Wolfhounds take on Fiji for a spot in the semi-finals.

I have a weird feeling that watching the game back at Errol HQ with Intern Danny Wicks and work experience boy Lachie while we hold the fort is gonna be stressful. As if it’s not tricky enough on a normal night trying to make sure Danny Wicks doesn’t eat all the chalk from the stationery cupboard again and deflecting Lachie’s questions about why people call Intern John John ‘hotdog’ and where babies come from. Now I have to choose between our Irish and the Fijians.

HOW CAN YOU CHEER AGAINST BABY HAYNE? It just Doesn’t Seem Right. I also have to make a really tough decision between whether we go for Irish Whiskey or vodka pineapple (my Fiji happy hour drink) for after-work bevvies. My life is so hard.  Perhaps I shall have both.

Game pics: Getty Images

Jeepy pics: news.com.au

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a world cupdate!

November 1st, 2008


See what I did there? That is the sort of A grade wit people expect from Errol. In my defence, it ain’t my fault. Much to John John’s horror, Intern Danny Wicks has been bringing in truckloads of baked goods every day this week and it’s all I can think about. Mmm….cupcake.

ANYWAY…how super party happy fun times as the World Cup been so far? The Errol team has been absolutely loving it. Lets break things down shall we?

The Wolfhounds


Well it’s safe to say we have fallen head over heels In Love with the boys, their staff and the Blarney Army. We have basically decided to be part of their entourage, whether they like it or not. We like to think our pushy sense of entitlement is charming. Sassy and I headed out to Parramatta Stadium to watch them in action against Tonga on Monday night. Being sheltered Eastern Suburbs girls, neither of them had ever actually been to Parramatta. Their wide eyed contempt wonder was something to behhold.

That combined with the fact it was the Hottest Night Ever and we were watching two foreign teams made us feel like we were on some bizarre overseas holiday. Sweating profusely whilst watching footy = strange. Strange and gross. It was also a peculiar experience to watch a team line up that you have sorta kinda gotten to know. There was actual NERVES on our part. Mostly because we wanted them to leave the field with their heads still on their shoulders, but we just really want them to do well.


Why is that? Well, despite the fact they are clearly adorable…we are behind them because we believe they deserve the success. There’s been a bit of chatter about the lack of first generation Irish in the team but honestly, these boys are committed. They are bloody proud of that jumper and played their absolute hearts out the other night. They were in it until the last second and were totally shattered after the game.

They felt like they let their team, their supporters and their country down. We patted their backs, massaged their egos and told them a million times IT’S OKAY YOU PLAYED SO WELLLLLLL but it didn’t seem to change their minds. Still sad face city! So I reverted to what I know best. Inappropriate touching. A few arse grabs and everyone was all smiles again. See! I am good for something. Maybe I could even molest the NSW Blues into victory next year? Magical molesting!


As for the game, media and fans alike have praised the boys for their bravery in defence and we have to agree. Apart from their pocket rocket hooker, Tonga is a team of brick shithouses.Stuff that they are BRICK SHITMANSIONS! Seeing Stuart Littler drag a Tongan boy out into touch was one of the highlights of our year. For serious. We were also really impressed with the Wolfhounds fantastic kick and chase. Enthusiasm for the win!

To be honest, this was a stressful bitch of a game. I was thisclose to asking for take away vodkas and retreating to hide in Sassy’s Rav 4. If I wasn’t so horrifically lazy, I totally would have. I thought I was nervy with the Dragons, but watching boys you kinda sorta know play IS THE FREAKING WORST. How do people do it? I deadset had a minor stroke. My left side still isn’t functioning correctly and I will be forwarding my medical bills to Rugby League Ireland.

And, in the interests of full disclosure, we have to admit we all have a giant school girl crush on centre Sean Gleeson. Or as we call him, Hot Ginge Gleeson. To be frank, this took us by surprise. Sure, we are decidedly pro ranga here at Errol….but finding a man of ginger persuasion actually ATTRACTIVE? In our pants? How did this happen?

Well he is pretty much the most adorable man in Adorabletown. To quote the ever eloquent Sassy –

When he smiles, baby ginger striped kittens burst out of flowers and frolic in the sunshine.

IT’S TRUUEEEEE! We are tres invested in his well being and kept standing up and yelling creepy supportive things from the sideline. When he messed up a pass that woulda been a sure try our hearts broke for him. Everyone was all pissy, but  we were all IT’S OKAY SEANY! WE STILL LOVE YOU! IT’S GONNA BE ALRIGHT BABY!


In the second half, he got absolutely poleaxed by a Tongan we died a second, more horrible death. He lay prone on the ground, obviously in a large amount of pain. Because we are excellent journalists we knew all about his health problems, and we were instantly reminded he had been battling a back injury all tour. NOOOOO! NOT HIS BACK! HIS ADORABLE ADORABLE BACK! We were light headed from the fear. Or humidity. Whatever. When he bravely got up and limped away we were overjoyed…THAT’S IT DARLIN! WALK IT OFF! GOOD BOY! WE LOVE YOU!

We thought nothing of our shouting love until as we were leaving the old bloke behind us taps me on the shoulder and seriously says ‘tell your boyfriend Sean he did really well’.

Yep, we are officially dirty ranga lovers.

The Passionz


Despite Rebecca Wilsons arrogant assertion that no one cares about the World Cup, the passion on display during the tournament so far has been truly inspiring. Judging from Monday nights turn out, no one told the Tongan fans that Madame Wilson sees the Tongan team as nobodies. God guys, haven’t you heard? You are minnows! MINNOOOOOWS!

Seriously though, shit was breathtaking. I love league more than life itself, and to know that international league has that much support warmed my cockles. Hehehe…cockles. I haven’t heard noise or felt atmosphere like that since…well I can’t remember the last time. Sitting as lone Irish supporters in a bay of Tongans was well…interesting. Those bitches are formidable. A young boy kept turning around giving me filthies every time I yelled something pro Irish. Given the fact at 12 yrs old he was at least 3.5 times the size of me, I considered pulling my head in. I didn’t, because I am stubborn and obnoxious. But I CONSIDERED it.

The deafening TONNNNGA…TONGGAAA chant combined with the wall of green noise coming from the Blarney Army caused me to sarcastically yell OH YEH WILSON NO ONE CARES ABOUT THE WORLD CUP HMMMMMMMMMM. More than once. Coz in my mind, she totally heard me.

Now add Samoa to the mix and we get the awesome spectacle that was last night. Unsuprisingly I am not exactly an expert on Pacific Island relations except for that one time I went for a job with some sporting company that was running the Pacific Games. In my interview they seriously asked if I ‘minded dogs’, because apparently there is ‘a lot of wild dogs in Samoa’. And do I mind flirting with Samoan officials because ‘that is the way things get done in the Islands’. I wish I was joking.

AND THEY DIDN’T EVEN HIRE ME. Can you believe that? I’m not qualified enough to flirt with lecherous Samoan bureaucrats or beat away packs of wild dogs with a giant stick. Awesome.

Errrr anyway so yeh, I don’t know much about the Islands. I had no idea that Tongans and Samoans don’t feel loveytimes towards each other. WHO KNEW!

“I grew up in Grey Lynn and there were always issues with Tongans and Samoans. It got pretty bad at one stage, a couple of dudes got their heads chopped off at the markets,” Vagana told NZPA of when the rivalry turned ugly in South Auckland.

Got their heads chopped off? Makes our ‘rivalry’ with the Kiwis look pretty piss poor. Maybe if we had market beheadings our games would actually be interesting. Get on that boys. CHOP CHOP! Lolz…chop.


Anyway, what a game! And even better than the game…the war dances. WAR DANCES. They are literally the coolest things I have ever seen. The puffed cheeks, the macho posturing…the imaginary spears. It’s all too much. I think we should convene a conference of leaders from all Pacific Island nations to come up with a war dance for each NRL team. Sure, this may be disrespecting thousands of years of culture but HOW AWES WOULD IT BE? Imagine Whitey McWhites like Brett Finch busting out some Haka style moves. Amazing.

Needless to say my new found love for all things Islander will be immediately forgotten when the Irish take on Samoa next week. ERIN GO BRAGH!

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update…live from Errol HQ!

October 27th, 2008


I haven’t written anything for awhile. You kids must be missing me terribly…right? Well I’m here to give you your much needed Kiki fix AND update you on the goings on at Errol HQ. HOORAY!

First of all, I would like to announce the arrival of our newest intern….DANNY WICKS!

As much as we love our boy John John, we are heartily sick of him making us feel bad about ourselves with his constant physical perfection. He is always just returning from a beach jog, or off to Bikram yoga or making some insanely healthy protein based lunch….and we are totes over it. We need a mans around the office that can indulge in our favourite group activities – eating and and drinking to excess. And if one man in the NRL can do this better than Fattest Man In League nominee Danny Wicks I am yet to find him.

The man is a hearty individual. We need this sort of bulk around the office. One of our favourite stories of the year involved Intern Danny Wicks crashing his scooter into a car…..and coming away pretty much unscathed. In fact, the car was more damaged than him. AMAZING.

“The bike went into the radiator then I dented the bonnet, hit the windscreen, dented the roof, dented the boot, then landed on my feet on the tar.”

HE LANDED ON HIS FEET! He is so….agile. Like fat Superman!

His bemused coach Brian Smith tells us that “The car’s been damaged from top to toe and he’s walked away with a scratch on his left elbow.”


This is the sort of amazing physical resilience we need at Errol HQ.  Plus when we fired Intern Greg Bird he left a shitload of mini meat pies in the freezer and John John flat out refuses to eat carbs. Thankfully, Intern Danny Wicks is currently polishing them off. The messy bitch got sauce all over Work Experience Boy Lachie’s Seasame Street colouring book.

In other vitally important Errol news, we are busy little bees preparing for our Movember campaign. We have some seriously exciting announcements coming up soon. We are so antsy to tell you…but we can’t just yet. OOOOH THE SUSPENSE.

We went on an Errol excursion last night to witness the crapness splendour of the World Cup Opening Ceremony and Sassy will be delivering her thoughts on that this week. We have also been frolicking about with our beloved Wolfhounds and are off to watch them take on Tonga tonight. We are a tiiiiiny bit worried about their physical health as most of them have never met a Tongan before, let alone lined up against one.



On the upside, the big Tongan boys are gonna tire easily in this heat. Hopefully our boys can use their smaller stature to their advantage and be speedy out of dummy half.  I mean this is the least patronising way possible, but I like to imagine them as the teeny roman gladiator facing off against his larger, slower opponent. If only they were wearing fierce manskirts. Mmmmm….manskirts.

We will be reporting on all the Irish goings on through the week so keep checking back. You bitches better be cheering for Team Ireland. We are seriously struggling to cheer on the Kangaroos. We realised last night we pretty much loathe the entire team. It’s chock full of Dirty Queenslanders for chrissakes! How can I cheer when BRENT TATE scores a bloody try? It’s physically impossible. I tried to clap and my hands repelled from each other in protest. It just Cannot Be Done.


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r-l-w-c w-r-a-p: all is full of love

October 24th, 2008

Ok these recaps are going to have to become so much more frequent. For a non-event, the Rugby League World Cup isn’t skimping on the pre-competition action.

Once I recovered from our night on the tiles with the Blarney Army after meeting the Wolfhounds last weekend – not with the players, of course … they have training to do, remember? – I realised that the World Cup was being completely hilarious and we were missing it.  Travesty.

Mick ‘Jan Brady’ Robertson has been off training with the Scottish team, eating haggis and being generally awesome about having to rock the kilt at formal occasions:

Looking forward to that, it will be a bit interesting I don’t think I have the legs for it.

DON’T UNDERSELL YOURSELF BABY!  You’ve got good knees and you know that’s really the main thing, right?

Note to Scotland: I hope they get matching vests too. Arrange that pls.

Actually, bloody everyone is turning out to be a bit lovable in this world cup.  It’s so confusingggg.  The French – those poor bastards – have now been moved from Caloundra to Canberra, but even they’ve managed to stay classy.   Eric Anselme said he was honoured.

… It’s good to be part of the facilities of the Raiders.  They are a very great club. I remember as a young guy in France I grew up watching Mal Meninga.

Seriously, bitches, how am I meant to cope with this?  I can’t handle it.  I have a hard enough time coping with torn loyalties in the NRL, and I hate half the teams in that.  There’s nothing worse than watching a team you like walk, heads bowed, from the field after a loss.  So what do you do if you like both teams?  I’M GONNA BE HAPPY/MISERABLE WHOEVER WINS.  Excuse me while I take a xanax.

My original World Cup plan was to take out my snark on the Aussie team and the poms.  Before you say anything, no this doesn’t make me a traitor.  Non-Aussies just often don’t understand the careful dynamics of Australian league.  And while I love my country, that love is almost almost outweighed by the fact that – as a New South Welshlady – I loathe Queenslanders.  Individually, they may be lovely, but on the field, they are nothing but dirty Queenslanders dressed in disgusting Maroon.  It’s Just Fact.

And the Aussie team is horrifyingly packed with them. At the Kangaroos Bondi training session, it was dirty Queenslanders beachside as far as the eye could see. They even outnumbered the sunburnt pommie tourists. BUT SIR, THEY’RE EVERYWHERE!

Billy Slater on a surfboard, Brent Tate practising mouth-to-mouth, Greg Inglis … being Greg Inglis.  Ok so I don’t know what he was doing but I KNOW HE WAS THERE. And perhaps, most disturbingly of all, Johnathan Thurston wearing inappropriate white boardies. Even Billy Slater won’t put up with that shit.

Really, mate? You went with white? I know we’re meant to be bonding but I’m just not comfortable knowing you quite this well.

[I’m assuming the lifesavers are proud New South Welshman and like us, loathe Dirty Queenslanders. Therefore may I suggest that they are not so much demonstrating mouth to mouth as attempting to suffocate Tate by using the burking method? I saw it on Law and Order once so it must be real. -K]

The only redeeming thing about the whole beach training fiasco was seeing Ron ‘the Cougar‘ Palmer – trainer for my babies, the Roosters – rocking out in his Official Aussie Team Budgie Smugglers.

No one is surprised Monaghan has to wear a rashie. The sun is not kind to rangas.

But then even those crafty Queenslanders won my heart. They unleashed their secret weapons in the form of Steve Price in his custom-designed Kangaroos bucket hat (HE JUST REALLY LIKES BUCKET HATS, OK?) and Scotty Prince, aka Prince Scotty the Caramel … and they were hugging. Game over, I’m done. I officially now don’t hate any team in the world cup. You adorable bastards.

But the real stars of the news this week are team Fiji. Media outlets are falling over themselves to pimp out the fact that the Fijians are staying in Woy Woy and drinking Sustagen Kava from plastic cups.  If I was feeling narky and English-majory today I would maaaaybe say that all this press interest has an air of ‘the noble savage’ about it, but instead let’s say that the Errol gals don’t need any convincing about how awesome Fiji is.  And not just cause we are oddly fond of Jarryd ‘Baby’ Hayne.

We love them almost as much as Andrew Johns loves Akuila Uate.  Uate is lining up for Fiji in the Cup, and Joey says:

In all my years in rugby league I’ve never seen a better athlete than this bloke … it’s all raw power.

And even though I’ve only seen him on the field once or twice, it does seem like he’s lining up to be a bigger, better Lote Tuqiri.  But, and this is where it gets a little weird:

You touch him and the muscle fibre is incredible. His vertical leap is phenomenal and the bloke has a backside you could sit a drink on. It’s frightening to think just how good he could be.

Why is this in the newspaper? Is Joey considered some kind of arse conoisseur, based in his own impressive booty? Is he the go-to man for arsenalysis? HOW DID THIS COME ABOUT?

… Sigh. Look, I hate when someone manages to be creepier than me.

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irish eyes (and pants) are smiling

October 20th, 2008

You kittens might remember that Sassy and Kiki were off to meet the Irish Wolfhounds on Friday. We considered just going to their official jersey presentation this Thursday to do our actual interviews, until we realised that we’d be passing up an opportunity to get drunk in the afternoon to get to know the team in an informal way as part of our research.

dlfkgone of the many outfit options considered for the occasion

We set off for the Mona Vale golf club, and applied our make up in the carpark, much as we imagine Jana Wendt did in her heyday. We are such winners. And we suspect the Mona Vale staff are tres impressed by those vagrant go-getter journalist girls who live in a car.

We should also point out that we were the only women in a sea of about fifty men, which is much like what we imagine it feels to be the only gazelle in a pride of lions. Kiki wore high heels for approximately two minutes before popping back into the Rav to change into thongs, possibly to better run from the stalking lions.  But what can we say? These are the kinds of sacrifices we make for Errol. We’re like immersion journalists … or something. Just call us the Hunter S Thompsons of rugby league.

As for the Wolfhounds, let’s just say we think we’re on a winner here.  If not World Cup winners, then definite front-runners for the perviest team in the cup.  They are to football what Errol is to the world of journalism. Delightfully low-rent (economy class flights, anyone?), totally confused as to what they are sposed to be doing at what time and well … maybe a tiny little bit drunk.

lkdgHigh tech training techniques spur the Irish on to certain victory

We never thought we would meet people who could keep up to us in the sexual innuendo stakes but these boys put us to SHAME. AND! Just like us their perviness is charming and not at all offensive. Of course.

In the interests of full disclosure, we should admit that we weren’t in our finest form.  We’re not tactful ladies at the best of times, and Kiki in particular spends most days with her foot firmly lodged in her mouth, but the evening with the Wolfhounds was memorable even for us.  How about we review the top five foot-in-mouths to give you a general idea?  In no particular order:

1) Kiki loudly announces to the Blarney Army I’M GONNA GO CHANGE MY SHOES, I FEEL LIKE A DIRTY PROSSIE.

2) … sits down next to the team, a good 3-5 minutes after meeting them, and points out ‘you are all a lot more attractive than I expected. I thought you would be all withered, sunburnt and fug like the Irish backpackers that skeev around Bondi!’

3) .. decides to explain in detail the Oh Errol team’s patented ‘We Don’t Fuck Footy Players (except Hot Bitch Cooper if he ever offered)’ policy. In her defense the Irish had made the mistake of asking why Coops was the singular exception to this rule and she merely obliged with excruciating detail. We maintain they really did need to understand the intricate levels of his hotness OKAY?

4) … rants for a good 10 minutes about a certain ex NRL player who shall remain nameless being a complete douchebag without realising most of the table are his current Super League team mates.

5) … and finally, corners poor Pat Richards to ask “did you hear about Sonny Bill?!”  She felt his answer of “errr yes…of course I did” was her queue for a soliloquy detailing SBW, more about SBW, her feelings on SBW and the 100 reasons why he is a “complete and utter DOG”.  Pat just sat there smiling politely, clearly wishing he was elsewhere. Far, far away from Kiki and her rantings.

In summary?  Pretty much the usual Errol.  but fear not, we did get the answers to the questions on everyone’s lips about the Wolfhounds:

Yes, they are handsomer than you’d think.

Yes, they are almost all sunburnt.

Yes, they do drink cider.

Yes, Wayne Kerr is his real name.

And a ‘loose forward’ is actually some kind of lock. Which is disappointing, and not nearly as pervy as we’d hoped / it sounds.

Because we are journalistic renegades, we decided to to turn the tables and let the boys throw a few questions our way:

“Why are you here?”

“Are you wearing a wire? I think I should check.”

“What newspaper do you work for?”

“If you’re a journalist, where’s your little pen and paper?”

“If you’re journalists, why are you drinking?”

“So do you go for footballers then?”

“Where’s my ice?”  (seriously Wayne Kerr, we are not your waitresses!)

In general, the boys are positive about their upcoming matches.  The only people who seemed even vaguely worried about facing up to the Tongan and Samoan forward packs were the two non-footballers.  ‘But … but have you seen Tonga?’ we cried.  ‘THEY HAVE A 120KG 18-YEAR OLD!’  Our cautionary tales about the Islanders were met only with confused faces and the response ‘… but we are from Ireland’.  It’s cause Aussies don’t say the letter r, isn’t it?

They are also surprisingly artsy, and can fashion a fairly lifelike piece of human anatomy from a bbq dinner. We think the team in general seemed impressed by Sassy’s creative suggestions re: potato salad.

And the truth is, we’d love to give you some snark or some dirt on the Wolfhounds, but those bitches are just too likable.  If Sean Gleeson were in the NRL, he’d be a shoo-in for snuggliest man. We explained to him that in Australia he is known as a ‘ranga’, but technically is actually more of a ginger nut. He has the cutest smile ever, in case you’re wondering. Stevie Gibbons conducted probably the least confident auction in history, and it was awesome. How can you not love a man with the same name as Our All Time Super Idol Stevie Nicks?


If Michael McIllorum was a Yank he could make a tidy career as a Channing Tatum impersonator.  Karl Fitzpatrick won us over immediately with his greeting of ‘I didn’t think you were real! I thought ‘why would 4 girls from Australia be messagin me? I even deleted ya message! But here you are .. in 3D!’ And Wayne Kerr has enough charisma for about four men. Okay … make that five. Seriously, he is kind of amazing.

gfkMcIllorum happily particpates in Errol HQ’s Pants Off Friday

Oh yeah, and what about the football?  Right. Football. We could tell you everything the experts say, and we could make up some stuff about how the individual players have played in Super League – cause God knows we’ve never watched ESL in our lives – but wouldn’t you rather the truth? Truth is – they are damned awesome.

All of them. I know alot of people are getting behind the Pacific Island nations but we are unequivocally throwing all our support the Wolfhounds. Australia, be damned! (By the way almost the entire Kangaroo squad is made up of Dirty Queenslanders and we DON’T LOIKE IT. HMPH.)

We’ll be watching Ireland play Tonga on Monday night at Parramatta and we will bring you our reports on their game and the progress of their sunburn without fail.

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… tonga and i are officially pissed

October 19th, 2008

Well I think it’s safe to say the World Cup is officially here.  By that I mean you’re about to get my first blog of blind World-Cup-related rage.  If an event occurs and Sassy isn’t outraged, then did it really happen?

This morning Rebecca Wilson climbed on her soapbox to explain why, by her infallible logic, the Rugby League World Cup is a non-event, a waste of time, and a manifestation of a massive and pitiful inferiority complex on the part of Australian rugby league.

About 8 hours later, I unwound my bedhair from the bedhead (how did it get stuck there? I know not), fell out of bed, guzzled two glasses of diet coke, realised I had no pants on, and decided I didn’t care. Then I read this article and had a minor rage-induced stroke.

Usually I ignore columns that are this clearly off-the-mark and irelevant, but now that we are firmly and happily embedded with the Irish rugby league team (not that kind of bedded, you dirty bitches), we feel like we have to stand up for our mans.

To qualify for football’s World Cup is a massive achievement. It takes months and months of jumping through hoops to earn your ticket.

Sadly, the same cannot be said for the league event.

It features teams from such league superpowers as Scotland and Tonga.

Do you see this paragraph? I AM OUTRAGED ALREADY. And not just because I find it horrifyingly pretentious when Australians refer to soccer as ‘football’, as though they are somehow cosmopolitan enough to recognise that the round ball is the only true football and everyone who doesn’t immediately realise football means soccer is a halfwit.  I say not so much ‘cosmpolitan’ as just being deliberately obtuse.

For everyone’s information, there are qualifying events for the World Cup, which is why Russia will not be participating this year. (We love you anyway, Russian Bears!)  But more importantly, um, does anyone find this deeply offensive and vaguely racist?

I hate this attitude that every country other than Australia, New Zealand and Britain is a waste of space in the World Cup.  It’s so arrogant, and for the most part I think it smacks of anglo-centrism.

It was only one hundred years ago that league was born in Australia. But now that Australia is the world’s dominant team, somehow we’re not willing to give any other nation even just a decade or two and a bit of a helping hand to develop the game and their squad and become a league heavyweight in their own right.

Rebecca Wilson is proud to call herself a die hard league fan.  Oddly, she says that this means she watches footy 26 weeks of the year.  Apparently Rebecca Wilson cares not for watching the finals.

But how can someone who loves watching the NRL be so patronising and dismissive about the very countries that produce the players she watches for 26 golden weeks every year? 

Does she love them in their club jerseys, just not in Pacific Islander ones?  Ooh those pesky Pacific Islands, always wanting to be involved in the World Cup, just because they are major contributors of the players who keep the game going. UPSTARTS! Damn them and their poly pride.

And if countries don’t have a strong national rep side, by this logic, they never will.  Because no one is ever allowed to compete at an international level unless they’re gonna win.  Right?

How about the participation of a second tier league nation in an international event is the kind of catalyst that leads a little boy to grow up and dream of wearing his national jersey and playing on the world stage?

Having sunk a few drinks with the Irish Wolfhounds yesterday I can say these boys are full of passion and excitement to be playing in the World Cup.  (And yes there is a post on the way about them, stay tuned, babies).

Livin on borrowed time, poor bastards.  Pic:Xinhuanet Photo

Shall we also start eliminating the battler nations from the Olympics?  BYE MOLDOVA!  God knows most of their athletes have no chance at reaching event finals, let alone winning a medal.

Should we boot out the shit teams from the NRL?  Just a few years ago Manly was at the bottom of the NRL table, but no one told Steve Menzies there was no point having them in the comp because they’d never get any better.

It honestly upsets me that people think there is no value in competition beyond the question of winning.  What a shallow, cynical way to see the world.  And what a slap in the face for all the players from World Cup nations – especially ones who didn’t qualify – who feel actual pride in representing their country.

Quite frankly I don’t think I want to live in a world where I can’t watch Eric the Eel live his dream at the Olympics.

I also feel like I should be worried about the emotional health of Rebecca Wilson’s kids right now.  They have some bleak athletics carnivals coming up in their future.

There are three nations who play league at any sort of elite level. Australia, New Zealand and England are the trio of countries in which rugby league is played at club level in quite large numbers.

Tonga, Scotland, Ireland and Fiji are rugby union and soccer strongholds. The likelihood that participation in a league World Cup will in any way change the status quo in any of these countries is very, very low.

This can only mean one thing. Rugby league suffers from a massive inferiority complex. While the AFL is content to rest on its domestic laurels, pockets of the league community are intent on trying to turn their game into an international one. This will, of course, never happen.

OH IS THAT WHAT IT MEANS?  An inferiority complex. Silly Sassy.  I thought what this actually meant was that Ireland, Scotland and Wales are Rugby League babies, and the fact that the Super League sees fit to expand into the Celtic nations is good proof that there is interest there and money to be made on the back of league.

God forbid you invest in a fledgling area.  It might turn out … gasp, to be a good thing, like the Gold Coast Titans.

I also thought it meant that the countries like Tonga and Fiji where Rebecca thinks league will never catch on are the exact same nations that are producing first grade talent to feed the Aussie league. Fui Fui Moi Moi anyone?

But then, Rebecca isn’t a believer in expansion. Why keep a competition that tries to grow rugby league in other nations?  It’s doomed to fail.

The real fact is this: this is not a sad delusional little attempt to make rugby league a world sport.  It already is a world sport.  All these countries competing in World Cup will be fielding players who were born or live in the countries they are reperesenting. 

The question is how we deal with league as a world game.  Call me a cockeyed optimist, but I think the best way is to just let the bitches play.

And hey, at least league truly is an international game.  If I recall correctly one of AFL’s initiatives is international rules. For those who don’t know, this is where Australia wants to play other countries, then remembers that no one else plays AFL.  This problem is only solved by changing the rules.  


But in the end, what’s most disappointing about the column is how wrong it is.

Rebecca Wilson thinks sales of tickets are non-existent and no one gives a shit about the cup.  www.sportinglife.com seems to think the final is a sellout and ticket sales have passed £2million.

Rebecca Wilson thinks league is a non-event in Melbourne, but crowds at Olympic Park average more than 14,000 for Storm home games, and Melbourne holds the record for the largest crowd ever in attendance for a State of Origin game.

Rebecca Wilson seems to think that Rugby Union has a legitimacy at world level league can only dream of, but surely no country has ever won the thing that isn’t Australia, New Zealand, the Saffas or the Poms.  To suggest that the success of a small group of dominant nations doesn’t make the whole competition a “farce” in union but it does in league is clearly ridiculous.

And the moral of the story is don’t you criticise my World Cup. I will cut you good.  Love Sassy.

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r-l-w-c w-r-a-p: new zealand and mata haris

October 17th, 2008

HOW MANY SLEEPS TO GO? …. um, not many.  I can’t be bothered counting.  But the Rugby League World Cup is a-gettin closer and Errol HQ is abuzz with excitement. Work Experience Boy Lachie keeps running and jumping his way through all his jobs in the mornings and passing out in the corner for naps after lunch. Intern Brownie has left us for Britain, and Intern John John is really feeling the strain of being short staffed (heh, staff).  Yesterday our ray of sunshine intern almost made a frown.  It was upsetting.  

So apologies if Errol has been a little light on World Cup updates lately, but the truth is that actually making our own evening dacquiris and searching for images of men with moustaches takes up quite a lot of time. Who would have thought?  We are tres overworked.

And looking at what’s happened in the past week, I can only assume I have missed out on several Important Top-Secret World Cup meetings where, apparently, everyone decided the best way to even the playing field for this year’s cup was to annihilate Australia’s back line. Just as Justin Hodges was ruled unfit with a “busted shoulder”, and Brett Stewart got one too, brilliant defender and all-around hot bitch Matt Cooper suddenly needed “groin surgery“.  DON’T THINK YOU CAN FOOL ME, BITCHES.  This is so blatantly transparent I can’t even stand it.  Taking Hodges and little Bretty out with Tonya Harding bats-to-the-shoulder then sending in some kind of World Cup Mata Hari to shag Hot Bitch Cooper into an incapacitating groin injury.

I’m 99% sure their next plan is to ensure our new recruits Darius Boyd and Karmichael Hunt are charged by police and booted from the team halfway through the comp.

I can’t wait to find out what horrible injury they have planned for the newest Kangaroo – and Oh Errol Award nominee – Joel Monaghan.  Car door to the head perhaps?  Falling down a mine shaft?  Does he even realise he’s stepping into a cursed team?  Poor baby.

… is arsenic detectable? Better check with Benny.

Tell me this: can it be mere coincidence that, while Hot Bitch, Hodges and Snake are looking at stints on the sideline, Brett Stewart’s teammate who was actually injured when he played the Grand Final, is now livin it up at training camp with the Kiwis?  I THINK NOT.  Just look at Steve Matai, all snuggly and smug.  WAS IT YOU?  ARE YOU RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS NEW ZEALAND?

But sir! Everyone else has black shirts! I feel like a tool.

Coincidence that poker-faced genius and former Broncos coach Wayne Bennett rocked up to New Zealand training this week?


It’s all very suspicious.

But the really worrying thing about this whole New Zealand plot may well be that … I don’t hate it.  As an Aussie I should be outraged, non?  But watching the New Zealand Maori play the All Golds on the weekend, readers, I felt things.  Nice things.  Things like smiles and butterflies and affection.  WHAT’S HAPPENING TO ME?

Maybe I do finally understand the whole Islandergate situation and multiple loyalties. Cause I look at those Kiwis and just seeing all the boys I love in the NRL gets my heart all confused. Krisnan Inu! Flossy Nightingale! Issac Luke! But, but … how can they be dirty Kiwis?

There is also the fact that it is pretty much impossible to hate Ruben Wiki.  I’ve tried, not possible.  It’s like hating Nathan Hindmarsh.  It defies human logic. And it seems like some of the ole Ruben magic has rubbed off on the New Zealand and made me love them the way I kinda love Parramatta.

See? Even touchies want Ruben Wiki to score!

The whole thing also had me wondering if New Zealand are even capable of sabotage.  You tell me.  Maybe think about it while we move onto other news.

As you know, we Errol girls are off to meet n greet the Irish Wolfhounds this week, so we’ve been eagerly tracking their trip to Australia on the big Errol whiteboard. And you know how indignant we were to hear that the Irish boys had been shunted back to economy while their English big brothers rode in business class. Clearly that is both unnacceptable and racialist. Am outraged!

I have dug a little though and found some facts to put the Wolfhounds diss into perspective.  At least, unlike the Papua New Guinea Kumuls, you were actually let into the country.  And most importantly, unlike the French rugby league team, you aren’t in Caloundra.  (Love and kisses to all our Queensland readers, by the way).

Chin up, Wolfhounds.


All images: Getty Images

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