Life as a blogger can be tough, even at Christmas. Sure there are pluses – like the comfort of working in your pyjamas and the joy of photoshopping hats onto Serious Naked Photos, but then there’s also the having to live off beans from a can, the potential for carpul tunnel syndrome, the anonymous boys online who call you footy sluts … wait, actually that last one is actually just funny. But still, shit can get brutal yo*.

* in no way do I actually think this is brutal, compared to, say, people who live through war or have health problems which mean they’re not allowed to drink, or haven’t ever heard of the Backstreet Boys. Now THAT’S tough.

What was my point? Oh yeah, being a footy fan can be a complete bitch sometimes, too. And by ’sometimes’ I pretty much mean ‘when you go for the Roosters or the Sharks’.

And most importantly, life can be toughest of all when a great human like Wendell Sailor announces his retirement. Today is officially one month since we all got the sniffles saying goodbye to Dell. It’s a Delliversary!

So we decided to try and find a little footy sunshine to brighten up everyone’s weekend. Luckily, the Dragons have some of the greatest corporate partners ever, and have this totally brilliant Reebok ad up on their website starring Big Dell himself.

IT’S WENDELL! DANCING! IN REEBOK GEAR!

Yes, maybe I did make a mini-collage of screencaps of Dell dancing. What of it?

Now that is some brilliant advertising right there. If you can watch that without wanting to buy I-DON’T-EVEN-CARE-WHATEVER-DELL-IS-SELLING then you’re a stronger person than I am. Honestly, this is the kinda shit they should be talking about on the Gruen Transfer. It’s fantastic.

Even better? Dragons besties and Errol faves Wendell and Jamie ‘Tiny Dancer’ Soward also pop up to wish you a merry Christmas on the Dragons homepage …. in Santa hats. And Dell telling us all to become Red V members. Not gonna lie …. I may have joined up. Even though I’m not a Dragons fan. That’s the power of the Dell. Whoever is looking after the Dragons website, we salute you. WE. SALUTE.YOU.

And if Wendell being hilarious isn’t your style (which …. seriously? It’s not your style? You absolute freak. Do you also eat babies and put your toilet paper on the roll underhand?) we found you some adorableness from across the Tasman and north of the Tweed.

Pic. Getty Images

Yup, that right there is Errol Cutest Rooke of the Year from 2008, Kevin Locke, bringing the cute with his Maori greetings all over the island of Shebangabang (occasionally known as New Zealand). He is hands-down Shebangabang’s cutest footy player, am I right? I’m so right.

Meanwhile Scotty Prince and the Titans boys have been busy …. playing bowls.

That’s right, playing bowls. And for some reason, footy players playing bowls = comedy gold. All those giant arms, no need for strength! It may also be because, in Kevin Gordon’s case, they love an Akubra. Oh, K.Flash. Could this be the first time I’ve ever swooned at a man in an Akubra? My guess is yes.

And if that doesn’t cheer you up, maybe you should give up on life. Just sayin.

Love Sassy xox

Wanna know what this post is about? IT’S ALL. ABOUT. GEORGE. ROSE.

Hi George! If you read this, feel free to stop by Errol HQ and we will give you Errol snuggles.

Ok, so there may be some other things later on. For instance, if you follow us on twitter you’ll know we all went to the Dragons game on Sunday at Kogarah, so I should probably write about Jarryd Hayne being a freak of nature, and what he has in common with Beyonce (hint: it’s not a big arse).

This photo needs more George Rose.

But mainly, it’s about George Rose. A few weeks ago the Errol girls hit up Brookvale Oval with our american besties Jay and Suellen to watch Manly thrash the Titans. They are huuuge NFL and college football fans, and all around great humans, so we thought they would enjoy an authentic Aussie league experience. … They totally did. Their faces basically lit up when Igor the Eagle came out to dance on the field and I reenacted told them the story of him beating down a heckler who invaded the field. Go Igor go! Bet you don’t get that in college football, hmmmm?

But the best thing about our trip to the Northern beaches was realising that everyone in the whole of Manly loves George Rose as much as we do.

God those bitches have good taste. And it’s not them. Know who agrees? The Aussie selectors.

Big Georgie Rose is in the training sqaud for the next Kangaroos tour of Europe.

And okay, maybe he’s not the most ripped man in the NRL … but what’s wrong with that? We’ve already got one Hot Bitch Cooper, right? Down with body fascism! Bottom line is everyone knows Georgie’s a dynamo. As Homer Simpson would say, George Rose you are a BIG FAT DYNAMO.

(Just quietly, that’s what Kiki calls me. Just one of the many reasons why George and I should be besties).

Meanwhile, why we were drawing up our list of Reasonz We Luv George, there were semi-finals happening. Melbourne demolished a flat Manly, the Dogs took out the Knights, and up in Queensland there was one of the most amazing games of semis footy in aaages.

Carty does not agree with that assessment.

There was Broncos magic, a massive Titans comeback, and John Cartwright barely managed not to bust out of his shirt and tie with rage like the Hulk, or (thankfully) have a stroke. WELU CARTY! PLEASE DON’T DIE BEFORE WE GIVE YOU YOUR 2009 ERROL AWARD!

Turns out Carty did verbally smack a bitch down at halftime … and get fined $10,000.00. I just hope it was as hilarious as Scotty Prince’s post-game interviews. No one is a better pissed off captain that Scott Prince. NO ONE.

Pic. Richard Gosling

Remember last year, when he accused the ref of having his Wests Tigers undies on?

Or “… you sent off their dumb forward and our smart hooker!”

Well on Sunday he stuck the boot into Darren Lockyer for milking a penalty on the field: ”Have they given out awards for the Logies this year?”

Oh, Scotty.

And on Sunday afternoon at Kogarah, Jarryd-with-a-Y Hayne decided to show all the haters why he won the Dally M medal. Kittens, this is why:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5YpvWuIUX-o]

FREAK. HE IS A FREAK. I mean obviously there were other reasons. Jamie Soward just wasn’t Jamie Soward. I dunno who was kicking out there, but it wasn’t our usual Tiny Dancer. The touchies filled me with rage, and the Dragons’ fifth tackle options were …. let’s just say they reminded me of the Roosters. And that’s not a good thing. THERE ARE ONLY SO MANY TIMES YOU CAN KICK THE SAME BOMB.

But not all the awesome Dragons fans could stop Jarryd-with-a-Y and his ridiculous form. Now that he’s found God, bitch is on fire.  I mean, I have no idea what kind of God he’s found, but apparently he was rocking a giant set of wooden rosary beads in the locker room, so I’m gonna go with Catholic.

Even Ray Warren sounds biblical in the commentary from the game. “Look at this in delight! Look at this in wonderment!” That’s a quote straight from the gospel of Rabs.

And thanks to the hooked-up Jessica Halloran we found out that Jarryd-with-a-Y has “an on-field alter ego.”

Seriously. JUST LIKE BEYONCE.

And if Ms Halloran’s dictaphone hadn’t died, I’m pretty sure he would have kept going and told us all exactly what Beyonce said when she revealed she has an alter ego.

“I turn into Sasha. I wouldn’t like Sasha if I met her … she’s too aggressive, too strong, too sassy, too sexy! I’m not like her in real life at all. I’m not flirtatious and super-confident and fearless like her.”

Jarryd Hayne is …. SASHA FIERCE.

Darlings, have you missed us? I know, I know, it’s been ages. I’M SORRY. It turns out that staying up all night watching the Ashes so we can blog for Cricket Australia, and spending your Saturdays whipping up columns for NSWRL really takes up a girl’s time.

But Sassy’s back now so you can stop biting your nails and weeping and just relax. Yes, yes, I promise I will never leave you again. Seriously, let go of my leg … except you Kevin Gordon. You can stay right there. As you were mister!

And now I’ve got my creepy quota in for the day, let’s talk footy. Everyone’s lost their damn minds talking about Karmichael Hunt switching to AFL. Which, to be completely honest, confuses me. Confuses me in the sense that …. I just don’t care. I feel like I’m missing something. I’m not shocked, cause didn’t he already switch to Union. Or did I make that up? Whatever. Let’s just say Karmichael is a straight-up code whore. And I’m not even angry! I kinda understand why someone would switch to AFL. They do have those adorable little sleeveless tops, plus from what I hear, spring rolls at the ground. Sounds pretty sweet to me. Mmmmm …. spring roll. All you have to give up is the joy of playing the greatest code in existence (for explanation, please see replay of Monday’s Tigers vs Sea Eagles game).

Pic. Glen McCurtayne

Best of all: HE’S A QUEENSLANDER. Buh-bye K.Hunt! Take the rest of the maroons with ya, why don’t ya? In fact the only downside of K.Hunt jumping ship is that, when Channel 9 broadcast Broncos games, we now no longer have the delightful possibility that Ray Warren will accidentally call him ‘Kunt’ again. Man, that was sweet.

But this week we realised he might’ve inspired some other league boys to start looking at their options. For one thing, Robbie Farah has a brand new career as a Hot Bitch. When did this happen? Seriously, when? We always adored Robbie for his Serious Thoughtful Comments at press conferences. Now we also adore him for his awesome new beard, and the fact that when he breathes in you can see his six pack through his jersey.

Apparently Robbie does not often indulge in a Robbie Farah kebab.

Terry Campese is in intense training for the T.Camps Michael Jackson tribute hour, hitting the road in the off-season 2009.

Not to mention that every time we turn on the tv we see another NRL player out there pimping out their skillset and trying new things. After his awesome performance on the weekend against the Knights I almost choked on my healthy healthy dinner when I saw Shaun Kenny-Dowall on Sports Tonight rocking out in the pool at swim school.

NO DARLING NO! YOU PLAYED SO WELL!

The way the Roosters season is going right now, if SKD leaves me to join the New Zealand Silver Waterfern swim team or whatever the fuck they’re called for the Commonwealth games in 2010, I will actually end up rocking in the corner in the foetal position. One win does not make a summer, or whatever that expression is. Although a few more losses from the Sharkies should keep us away from the wooden spoon, and, oh, how I cling to that.

Although I do think it would be pretty sweet if Beau Ryan passes his anatomy course and takes up a new career as an Osteopath. I find him oddly …. comforting. I would totally trust him with my spinal health. Although maybe not so much if he decides to become a plastic surgeon or something, because bitch is having troubles with some of the basic concepts of the torsal region.

So, the rib bones connected to the …. boob bone.

He seems to be enjoying the anatomy stuff a lot more than he enjoyed his film course, anyway.

Beau cares not for Peter Jackson fantasy epics. AND THAT ARAGORN IS A DOUCHEBAG.

As for Scotty Prince, I have absolutely no fucking idea what he is doing in an underwater plastic capsule, with BEN ROSS of all people, looking at crocodiles. But here ya go, just because Prince Scotty the Caramel is the reigning Oh Errol snuggliest man in league, and that deserves a run:

Meanwhile before my proud and noble Chooks beat them over the weekend, the Knights were already down a few superstars. I was nestled in the couch last week watching them have their asses handed to them by Manly when all of a sudden the camera flashed to Jarrod Mullen and Chris Houston on the sideline, looking … HOLD ON A SECOND. WHY SO HAPPY BOYS?

More importantly, why is Jarrod Mullen making the EXACT FACE I make when I fancy someone and am busy trying to look cute while I laugh at their jokes, instead of cackling and slapping my knee like I normally do when I find something hilarious. J.Mull, you are TOTALLY FLIRTING. Next thing you know he’ll be sitting sideways on his chair and leaning in close to talk to Houston in preparation for a pash.

(Just by the way, hi Ben Cross in the background! Sorry about that time at State of Origin when I thought you were Danny Nutley).

You know what this means, right? Well, for one thing, Kiki is more jealous than words can express. She loves a bit of Chris Houston’s action. She always tells me so. I think it’s the ye olde blacksmith vibe that gets her. But more importantly, Danny Wicks is gonna be PISSED. He is so not gonna stand for someone making the moves on his mans. Not when they’re so involved: those two share a team, a changeroom, a home, AND a vespa. They are committed.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U0YxMz2mw70]

Oh man, just quietly that video never EVER gets old. Who would have thought two forwards riding a scooter together would be so lolz-inducing?

I feel like either one of Kiki and Danny Wicks might jump out of the bushes and try and ambush J.Mull at any time. My advice to him is to carry a bacon sandwich with him wherever he goes. That would distract either of them. Just chuck it and run like a robber trying to get past a Rottweiler.

J.Mull and Houston have nothing on the greatest love story of the 09 league season though, which everyone knows is a little something called Uncle Wayne and Hot Bitch.

Remember them?

How could you forget? He can hardly wait to hold him, feel his arms around him. What was my point?

Oh yeah, check out who popped up in the box (heh, box) at the Dragons vs Storm extravaganza at Kogarah.

FLOSSY NIGHTINGALE IS THAT YOU? Look at him all up in the coaches box, makin eyes at Uncle Wayne, not even looking at the big flashing talkie box that shows you the game. It’s some First Wives’ Club shit happening up in there … leaving one man for a younger model. Hot Bitch Cooper will not be pleased.

Luckily, I bet he looks fierce in some white pants.

Thanks as always to the gorgeous Cronkster and everyone’s favourite blog, Hot Aussie Footy Players Shirtless for the caps.

You’ve been on the edge of your seats waiting for the Oh Errol Awards winners post, right? I imagine it’s the same sort of anticipation we’re experiencing waiting for 17 Again. And just like how we’re dyyying to see Zeffie in the full glory of his Ed Hardy getup, our fanz are dyyying for these results. Who is the Fattest Man in League? Who will take out Best Hair? The time has come, babies.

But wait, you haven’t announced the Matt Cooper Award for Hottest Bitch in League nominees!?

DAMMIT. You kids and your eye for awards categories – we were hoping you wouldn’t notice. Look, we totally tried to write it. For reals. And then this happened:

After taking one look at Hot Bitch Cooper naked with a footy strategically placed under his perfectly sculpted man-v, we realised no one can ever beat  (unless he asked nicely) that and the category was therefore null and void. NULL AND VOID PEOPLE.

So after many long, hard (tee hee) nights of  drinking straight from the bottle decision making, we finally present to you:

THE OH ERROL AWARDS 2008 WINNERS

The Marlon Brando (the later years) Award for the Fattest Man in League

The Nominees:

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?

AUSTRALIA … NOT LIKABLE ENOUGH FOR A DECENT TITLE

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:

DO THE JITTERBUG!

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.

THE WOLFHOUNDS GET THEIR ROAR ON

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

[In between preparing for the Irishmen's arrival, Blog Action Day, Movember and in our spare time running around Errol HQ singing "THE WORLD CUP IS COMING, THE WORLD CUP IS COMING!", we realised it's been a while since we did an Errol Awards post. So in true Errol style, we delegated, and got regular Guest Blogger Bree to do our dirty work. Get ready to meet the nominees for this year's Caramel Delicious Award for Best Skin in League.]

That’s right, bitch is back! I know you all missed me, and even if you didn’t, just pretend you did to keep a girl happy. With my return, I bring you a lovely little tale of a little munchkin and his first big solo adventure.

That’s right kids, little Lachie made his first trip to Brisbane … everyone say it with me, aww!! Kiki and Sassy did the obsessive motherly thing, and delivered him safely to the VirginBlue gate and waited, embraced with tears flowing down their cheeks as their little man prepared to board his first solo interstate flight.

Head stewardess Fiona called for all unaccompanied children to report for check in and she took scared little Lachie by the hand and guided him to his seat at the back of the plane. She gave the little munchkin a colouring activities pack, something similar to the one given to SBW and Khoder on their escape flight.

Unlike SBW who struggled to complete the activities pack, smart little Lachie annihilated it in record time and spent the rest of the time chatting up talking to the lovely flight attendants who were, of course totally smitten with our Lachie.

Upon touchdown in Brisbane, Lachie grabbed his bag and bolted off the plane to me, anxiously awaiting his arrival. After hugs and tears all around at the safe arrival of the little man, we made a quick phone call to HQ to inform them of his arrival and then went to work.

Four days later, a few cutesy G rated flicks, and all the children’s sights in Brisbane ticked off the list (as well as all the work things, of course), I bid farewell to Lachie.

Just when I thought the Queensland office was getting back to normal, intern Joel Moon came in, with his bags packed, to bid me farewell. It was a short but marvelous partnership and it is with great sadness that Joel leaves these shores.

It was tres sad watching him leave the office for the last time. Pants off Friday just won’t be the same… ever again. Luckily for me, he is still in the running for the Caramel Delicious Errol, and for him that he has a week with the kids in Sydney before heading to NZ. So fear not kiddies, his association with Errol isn’t over yet!

mmm… caramel

Speaking of which, it is my job to introduce you to the five cuddly kids in the NRL that we all want to make a skin suit out of.

It’s been a grand year for the caramel deliciouseses that grace the NRL, what with Willie Mason going MIA in Origin for … what, the 5th year in a row?  And Scotty Prince breaking yet another bone.

Or Reni Maitua - well he plays for the Bulldogs, need I say more? And Joel Moon who only managed a handful of first grade games, even though he was considered the next big thing by the Broncos.

Oh, and lets not forget Ashton Sims dropping the ball which eventually cost the Broncos their 2008 campaign (not that I blame him, I swear)… But seriously, all this aside, these boys have skin to die for (and of course I mean that it the creepiest most axe murderer-ish way possible).  We love them no matter how indifferent their seasons were.

Me, an axe murderer… Never!!

WILLIE MASON

Blinded by the Blue…

Big Willie (lol, Willie) it pains me to use this photo of you.  It hurts me deeply. The shade of your shirt hurts my eyes.

Coming from the pastiest person you are ever going to meet, believe me making a skin suit out of his gorgeous chocolatey skin would be tres fantastic. However, Willie, don’t for one second think that this means I like you… Because I don’t… You just have beautiful skin, that is all.

RENI MAITUA

If Willie is the Chocolate, Reni is the Mocha of this family of delicious skinned boys.  Mmm, mocha.

Don’t get me wrong, I am definitely not opposed to tattoos, but I feel Reni’s arm full of ink takes away from all of his gorgeous mocha-ness. Bitch please, how can I make a suit outta you when your arm is all inked up?!

SCOTT PRINCE

pic: Remco Jansen/Studio Ultra

Bitch is fabulous, what more can I say?

In keeping with the family theme, I like to think of Scotty as the coffee with a splash of strawberry. He’s got that gorgeous coffee-esque skin, but that added sweetness, which is where the strawberry comes in (if you need further proof as to his sweetness just check out the ‘Snuggliest Man in League’ post).

And fear not, Scotty’s minimal ink isn’t enough to get my panties in a twist, unlike someone else we all know… *cough* Reni.

JOEL MOON

Getting past the sadness of Billy’s last day in office, let us concentrate on the skin that covers that bod of his.

I like to think of Billy as the Milo of the family. Now at first you might be thinking, ‘what the?’ but let me explain. Where adults sit down for a coffee, kids have a milo, no? And with Billy being the youngest of our nominees I think it only fitting that he be considered the junior version of coffee. Now don’t be thinking that because milo is lumpy that Joel has lumpy bumpy skin. Because he doesn’t, he still has that gorgeous caramel skin that is required of our nominees.

Now Billy also has a bit of ink here and there. He’s not quite as inked up as old mate Reni, but there’s still a little bit too much ink for that perfect skin suit… Or are we starting to think, given the number of tattoos on all the contestants that tattoos are no issue for our skin suits?  SO MANY QUESTIONS.

ASHTON SIMS

The only ‘clean’ nominee of the bunch (Wait does this mean he gets the award by default? Or are we not worrying about the tats? Oh wait, actually Errol gets to choose.  But they are open to your suggestions).

Anyway, back to it, let me introduce you to the last family member, Mr Caramel. With his caramelly skin, and charming good looks… oh wait this isn’t a personal ad… my bad!

Honestly, you can see the picture and I am sure you can all see why Ashton has the caramel title.

So. Kiddies. You’ve met them, you’ve seen them, and now you are just going to have to sit tight and wait and see who takes home the Caramel Delicious Errol.

… Are we all joyful and excited about the Grand Final this weekend, kittens?  Globo Gym vs the boys in maroon?  Oh my god, what a coincidence!  Me either!  So let’s just try and deal with it in the most painless way we can.

Anne: Neely, you know it’s bad to take liquor with those pills.
Neely: They work faster.

The truth is that the lead up to this week’s game has caused nothing but trouble for me.  My night terrors that Melbourne might actually win … again, have been so bad that Intern John-John has started slipping xanax into my bedtime cocktail.  He knows I love my beauty sleep.  Apparently I kept trying to strangle myself with the bedsheet and waking the household up crying and screaming STOP REFERRING TO YOURSELF IN THE THIRD PERSON GREG INGLISSSSS.

Basically, Melbourne Storm have turned my life into Valley of the Dolls.  Except it’s football driving me to the prescription meds bottle instead of a philandering husband or a failing musical career.  That’s kinda sad, right?

On the bright side, at least I finally have a valid reason for why I alway wear ridiculous see-through pastel nighties.

I am also left with the horrible decision of whether to rock up at the game weaing nothing that supports any team, or … god I don’t even think I can say it … something MAROON.  Is there any colour more hateful than maroon?  To quote the always-eloquent Kiki “it’s like red that got shit in it”.

If love was a colour it would be marooooon

Worst of all, my decision to throw all my support behind Manly out of sheer petty dislike for the Storm has caused a giant domestic dispute Chez Sassy.  My brother / flatmate is still on the Manly hate-train, and when he realised on Monday I’m team Manly, he was Not Pleased.  He banged some drawers, I threw a martini, and the whole thing ended with him screaming:

“If you’d been there to seen them beat the Roosters in the semis in 1987 THEN YOU WOULD UNDERSTAND”

This is not necessarily true, because I would have been five, and probably too young to understand hate, understand who won, and/or remember any of those things if I did.  But whatever.  The end result is we’ve started dividing the fridge in two using sticky tape (my side has barely enough room for all my vodka and nailpolishes) and I swear yesterday he maliciously turned on the tap in the kitchen to scald me in the shower.

In other Melbourne news, the boys from south of the border are still on their quest to become the most martyred team in league.  Sacrificial grapple lamb Lamberon Smith is still upset about his suspension, Israel Folau suspects he’s being illegally stopped from leaping by opposition players while the refs do nothing, and Antonio Kaufusi has vowed to win the premiership for his fallen captain.  Yes, yes, we know.  You’re all very noble in the face of persecution.  Saint George the martyr has nothing on you kids.

I would make some kind of jokes about all that but to be honest I didn’t really read all those articles. They weren’t nearly as interesting as the news about Joyce Churchill.

JOYCE CHURCHILL was married to the greatest fullback of all time … but she has a soft spot for another. Asked which player’s neck she would most like to dangle the Clive Churchill Medal from as the man of the match from this Sunday’s grand final, she replies: “Billy Slater. I like him. I’d like to cuddle him.”

Joyce! You floozy!  Just quietly, we Errol girls do love a cuddle, too. We get it! I’m guessing Joyce would have some strong opinions on the Important Question of who should take out this year’s snuggliest man in league.  She’d certainly support our plan to individually snuggle each of the nominees to make sure our decision is correct.

I also think she would enjoy dropping by the Errol offices for an afternoon sherry or ten and a gossip.  I’m totally up for it.  Call me Joyce!  I’ll bake!

(By ‘bake’, obviously I mean ‘I’ll send Lachie down to the Bourke Street bakery for eclairs and pretend that I baked’).

And in news that honestly almost makes me wanna move to Queensland, the Gold Coast Titans have decided to bring in the dollars by setting up their own betting agency, and because they are intensely lateral and creative souls, they have called it Titanbet.

Fuck off Titans, this is amazing.  All the other leagues clubs are watching their punters push money into pokies to make a few extra bucks, not you Titans.  They’ve decided to screw that, and go straight into TAB-style punting.  They care not for the fact that they will be making money from people placing bets on events including the competition they participate in.  Conflict of interest?  What conflict of interest?  Here, have a palm tree-patterned betting card!

I love it.  More than anything I hope that they send the boys in when they’re injured and in the off-season to man the booths.  You know it would be good for business.  If you can’t trust Scott Prince with your bets, who can you trust?

Also, if we’ve learned anything from the Simpsons it’s that the best way to deal with a tropical community is to introduce gambling.  I hope the next item on the Titans’ agenda is to build an island casino.

Island native: If God is all-powerful, why does he care if we worship him?

Homer: God is powerful, but insecure. Like Barbra Streisand before James Brolin.

Island blackjack!  Island roulette! The possibilities are endless.  If anything can keep rugby league solvent then it’s the wonders of casino gambling.  Note to David Gallop: begin investigating themed casinos.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to have a nap.  I think the downers are kicking in.

Because you are all truly invested in my well being, lets begin with a Health Update! And god knows theres nothing more exciting than people talking about their health woes. CAN YOU HANDLE THE EXCITEMENT?

Thankfully, turns out I don’t have Ebola. So no Ben Hornby style bleeding from the eyes for me. It turns out I was vomming blood because I have…wait for it…an ulcerated eosphagus.  You know in cop shows theres always that one old crusty detective that’s all drinking coffee/booze/eating hotdogs and is all ’GODAMNIT! we have to solve this murder! I don’t have time for this ulcer shit!’. THAT’S ME! I am now literally a withered old wino. I’m feeling like death warmed up and have been schlepping around the office sooking up a storm. Intern John-John just hates to see people sad, so today he waltzed in wearing this outfit to cheer me up.

He’s so thoughtful! If sunflower nipple pasties can’t cheer a person up, what can? By the way, he doesn’t like us to talk about it, but John-John regularly visits hospital wards dressed like this to bring happiness and goodwill to sickypants people. Sadly occupational health and safety laws require him to wear pants, but he powers on regardless.

(by the way, he keeps grabbing me and saying ‘Look Kiki no hands..balloon goes up! balloon goes down…balloon goes up! BALLOON GOES UPPPP!’. How is he making it move like that? Mystery!)

My doctor alleges its all due to my love of booze and subsequent hungover Nurofen Plus taking but clearly he has no idea. I know whats up. Google tells me another cause of this condition is stress. You know what REALLY caused my tummy tube problem? THE BLOODY DRAGONS.

Ezra Shaw/Getty Images

Have I ever had stress related health problems in the off season? I think not! I have made many a joke about my boys giving me a stroke or a heart attack but now those inconsistent bitches have gone and literally ULCERATED MY INSIDES. Needless to say I am not a happy chicken after their weekend efforts. Not only did we publicly tip them on the radio two weeks in a row but they also killed me in the soul with their absolute lack of form. They embarassed me both personally AND professionally. No wonder I’m bleeding internally.

To be honest I don’t want to talk about the actual football. Except THAT WAS SO A TRY. You know it was. I watched the game at Sassy’s house. When I say ‘watched’ I mean curled up in the fetal position on the lounge peeking at the horror through my hands. I had never noticed just how physical my reactions to my team are until Sassy helpfully pointed out…KIKI! THE DRAGONS MAKE YOU GO FETAL! YOU’VE GONE FETAL SWEETIE! And it’s true. They kill me.

Thankfully, although the Dragons couldn’t seem to muster much of a performance…Matt ‘Hot Bitch’ Cooper came through with a performance all his own. A fine performance in the arse…I mean arts. He musta known I was crying sad sad tears, because he just busted out some of his best arse work to date. Don’t squish squish Kiki, look…look how pretty my bum is!

I’m looking Coops! Awww it’s LOVELY! Thanks baby, thanks. But that wasn’t enough for Hot Bitch…at one point he even SMILED for me!

Oh wait no…that’s just his usual grimace of deep seated unfulfillment. Damn.

I was a little worried about this game. Worried in the sense of ‘will I have mixed feelings because I do kinda like Manly?’. Well no, as soon as the whistle blew all I could see was red and white. Manly who? SMASH EM BOYS. But then Jason ‘Flossy’ Nightingale and Our Davey Williams had some sort of horrific ingoal collision and managed to both injure themselves and I cared about someone in Maroon again. In our minds they are part of the Errol family and here was not one but two of our boys writhing in pain. SHIT! Get the jaws of life! THIS IS BAD KIKI, THIS IS VERY VERY BAD shrieked Sassy. OH GOD I KNOW, yelled I. Thanks only to our fervent prayers to the Baby Jesus, our mans emerged from the trauma relatively unscathed.

Despite his awesome/slightly disturbing howling at the moon try, The Hot Pioneer well…he had some no-no times. He even caused Dessie to yell MOTHERFUCKER at one point. He really did, I saw it. My lip reading skills are exemplary.

David immediately regretted his decision to groom his beard during play

Don’t worry Davey, we still love you. You know who else loves you? MATTHEW JOHNS. We thought our obsession with you was bordering on creepy, but Matty’s takes the cake. The Crush Cake! Or is that the Mancrush Cake? Mmmmm…cake.

That bitch can barely contain his delight whenever Davey is on camera. Sassy called it ages ago, and as usual ERROL IS ALWAYS RIGHT. We thought our thrusting at the TV was bad, but on Saturday night Matty showed us how Creepy is really done. In the aftermath of the Howling @ The Moon Try, Matty moaned into his microphone -

“Oooooh and hes howling at the mooooon! AND HIS HAIR IS PERFECT! Rabs forget your man Steve Matai, Williams is MY MAAAAAAN!”

Ummmmm. Well…..well, I have no words. So lets use pictures instead.

(Note – Pls look at Davey returning the love with an arse slap. Whore! I knew I liked him for a reason. We are kindred spirits Y/N?)

In a yucky week for league, I feel it’s necessary to not only remind myself, but everyone else…that there is still heart warming awesomeness in league. And it’s no suprise it’s coming from Snuggliest Man Nominee, Prince Scotty the Caramel. There is a backstory to these photos, but really who cares? The important thing is…Scott Prince is in a tutu. I LOVE HIM.

goldcoast.com.au

Gosh, he’s pretty.

EDIT – One of our lovely fans, Bel, has alerted me to yet another example of league awesomeness. I think this even out does Scotty in tulle.

Illawarra Mecury

AMAZING. What can one even say about this? It’s awesomness almost transcends words.

But if you’re wondering, yes that is Jason Ryles dressed as Dell. And Big Dell inexplicably dressed as an angel. Two things…a) apparently blackface is still an acceptable form of dress up in Australia and b) doesn’t Big Dell fill out those white jocks well?

Well that’s it kittens. The very last time I can write about the Dragons for 2008. Needless to say I am now very much on Team Manly for the rest of the finals. Team Manly and Team Anyone-that-isn’t-the-Storm.

(Screencaps thanks to Lozzy, naked John-John from Naked For a Cause)

WHEEEE! Tonight is Slumber Party Night at the Errol HQ.  Tomorrow at 9am Sassy + Kiki make their debut (as a duo) on the wireless. Yes kids, we totally have a one way ticket to ~*RADIO SUPERSTARDOM*~. And despite our arrogance confidence, we are a biiiiit nervy.

We need all the moral support we can get, so we have gathered the troops around the fire for a snugglefest. Errol snuggles are the best. We have just buttoned Work Experience Boy Lachie into his Superman onesie, Intern Brownie is melting cooking chocolate on the stove in preparation for our Brownie’s Special Hot Chocolates (extra marshmallows) and we finally convinced John-John to actually do up his terry towelling shorty robe. It’s a fetching shade of lavender with JJ embrodiered on the chest in gold thread. Really brings out his eyes.

But before we settle down for our High School Musical marathon we have to present the nominees for the Errol for Snuggliest Man in League. John-John brought his own selection of movies but well … let’s just say we have to save them for after Lachie’s bedtime. And he’s getting pretty sleepy, so lets get started.

Firstly, for the newbies who might be confused as to what a Snuggly Man is… let us revist our Polarfleece Award announcement -

There are all different types of attractiveness in this world. Men may not realise it, but ‘cute’ can mean a whole range of things. It’s possible to be intensely attracted to a man without immediately wanting him to put his penis in you. Yes really. When your first impulse is to take them to browse the soft furnishings section of Freedom, you have yourself a snuggly man.

JARRYD ‘BABY’ HAYNE

Do we really have to say anything?  Have you seen his face?  LOOK AT THAT FACE.  LOOK AT IT!

Who’s a pretty boy?  Are you a gorgeous boy?

If we really had to say anything, we’d say it’s a little bit the eyelashes, a little bit the dimples, and a little bit that he still has the teensiest bit of babyfat. Baby Hayne has footy player confidence mixed with an adorable vulnerability that makes us go SQUEEEE (as we did at Origin).  Nobody puts Baby in a corner.

ISSAC LUKE

pic: stuff.co.nz

Well first of all, we just love a man with Two First Names. And hair that resembles carefully designed topiary. We think it’s nice that he puts in that kind of effort. His cuteness defies mere words. Take one look at Issac’s precious little face. If you don’t immediately see why he deserves to be in this category then well … you should just give up on life. For realz.

SCOTT PRINCE (aka Prince Scotty The Caramel)

goldcoast.com.au

Ohhhh Scotty. How we love thee! His extreme preciousness is even more remarkable considering he’s a DIRTY QUEENSLANDER. BOOO! HISSSSS! Usually we love it when Queenslanders suffer horrific injuries during Origin, but when Scotty snapped his teeny caramel arm in half at Origin 3 our hearts broke into little pieces. Kiki had a broken arm at the same time and likes to think this synchronicity means her and Scotty are somehow cosmically connected. Sadly she broke her arm running across the street to a gay bar at 5am and not representing her state in front of 80,000 people. But some would say they are both heroes … and we have to agree.

Scotty inspires big snuggle times. He combines intense cuteness with a cheekiness that makes our hearts go boom boom. We especially adore his ManLove affair with Benji Marshall. So much so that Sassy made a beautiful/touching/really creepy tribute video. Pls watch it immediately k thanks.

smh.com.au

JASON ‘FLOSSY’ NIGHTINGALE

FLOOSSSSSY! We love love LOVE our Flossy. He gives us no feeling at all in our vajayjays, just in our hearts. Feelings of snuggles, flannelette PJs and non-sexual hair stroking.

We have christened him the labrador of rugby league. He embodies everything one loves about labs- enthusiasm, cuddliness and boundless energy. Not to mention the big dopey eyes and the shiny blonde hair. And you know if given the chance he would totally lick you on the face. AND YOU WOULD TOTALLY LET HIM.

BEN ‘HORNBAG’ HORNBY

Getty Images

I’m sure our regular readers are well aware of our Ben Hornby obsession. For the uninitiated, we here at Errol think our beloved Hornbag is vastly underrated…as a player and as a Cute Man.  Just because he’s pale like milk and his eyelashes/eyebrows/facial hair are invisible from a distance. I mean really. That is NO REASON to leave him out. Bastards!

Cuteness doesn’t only come in Daniel Conn shaped packages people. The Errol kiddies are all inclusive…we love everyone (except the Storm). The rangas, the fatties, the drunks and the under appreciated – WE LOVE YOU ALL!

There are two different types of Hornbag. Snuggly Hornbag and Despot Hornbag. Read about the intricate differences here. Obviously Snuggly Hornbag is the one in the running here.

Okay truthfully … we can’t really explain this one. WE JUST LOVE HIM OKAY? Don’t question us.

Needless to say there may be some tears in the judging room on the night before the Errols – this is a tough bitch of a category.  We invite all nominees to drop by the the Errol offices for a snuggle in the office beanbag to help us reach our decision. We promise to keep our hands to ourselves …. maybe.

For awhile, I was hopeful. Hopeful that the Olympics would completely blanket the sports pages and we’d be free of stories about THE DEATH OF RUGBY LEAGUE for two or three weeks. Sadly, no. Sonny Bill Feelings’ fugitive saga continues, and now Greg Inglis is apparently considering drinking the Khoder Nasser koolaid and heading to France.

I’m missing something, aren’t I? About the lure of the Nasser, and about Anthony Mundine. They speak and I hear english, everyone else apparently hears the sweet and seductive chimes of silver bells or the stirring roar of a “man with balls” and a rugby league role model.

If the courts ever do find Sonny Bill, will he be dressed in sunshine yellow robes, brushing Khoder Nasser’s hair, chanting “Jesus loves you” and answering only to the biblical name Meschach?

(The Polyphonic Spree are pissed you stole their look, by the way).

And Greg is kind of the last straw. I just can’t bring myself to care anymore. I have a lot of opinions, and even more rage, and even more love for league, but I’m finally spent. I’m happy to say to all the boys that if they want to go to France, just go to France. Off you go babies, on your bikes. I hear the south of France is lovely. Enjoy the scenery! Try the cotes d’agneaux!

Mmmmmmm cotes d’agneaux.

This is why you don’t visit the Springfield Mystery Spot

There is something that we really should be worried about, and I’m ninety percent sure that something is in the water over at Canterbury. Jessica’s beloved Reni Maitua is out for the rest of the season after a shoulder reconstruction. You might have guessed that things were Not Pretty when she heard the news. And after she had finally cried herself to the point of exhaustion and passed out on Intern Greg Bird’s shoulder, I had him move her to the couch and look up the rest of the Bulldogs team.

Turns out Reni’s busted shoulder is in fine company. It joins Willie Tonga’s announcement he’s heading to the Cowboys, Sonny’s defection to the Children of God – I mean, rugby – Arana Taumata being shipped out for punching someone’s jaw, Tim Winitana’s broken rib, and Ben Roberts and Lee Te Maari’s Cronulla punch-up dramaz as just one more reason why Belmore oval is a ghost town. WHAT IS GOING ON? How is it possible to lose so many players without actively knocking them off? Did they piss off the mob or something? Cause this shit is ridiculous.

As far as I can tell, this turn of events leaves only Hazem El Masri and … um, who else is left in the dogs? Nick Youngquest? Can he still play? Or is he still busy rescuing a local resident’s washing machine and household pets from a domestic fire?

I know Jarrad Hickey can’t still be playing, because he was accidentally hypnotised into thinking he’s a chicken; Andrew Holdsworth has been overdoing it on nerve tonic, and Andrew Ryan may or may not be suffering radiation poisoning.

That pretty much leaves us with John Kite, Ben Barba … and Daryl Strawberry. Right?

Sydney Water and Brian Waldron, I want you to get onto this immediately please. Jessica will have a stroke if it goes on much longer. She’s already started cackling at inappropriate moments and collecting cans of beans and foil to make helmets so she can climb into the basement and live as a recluse until the 2009 season starts. Bitch is seriously close to going off the deep end.

In the meantime, Jessica honey, why don’t we go to a happy place for awhile?

Titans Learn Read Good

pic: www.goldcoast.com.au

Oh yeah. That’s the good stuff.

Either Scotty Prince is pretty much an angel from above, or these boys have even better publicists than Big Dell, because it seems he and the Gold Coast Titans are launching an educational program.

An educational program. Called TLC. For little kids who need extra support at school. REALLY? Are you kidding me Scott Prince? Are you trying to kill me with cuteness? DAMMIT SCOTTY! I’M ONLY HUMAN. MY OVARIES, THEY CAN’T TAKE IT.

I was already feeling a little bit woozy when I saw that adorable picture of you with your kids. If this is some kind of late run to win the Snuggliest Man in League award, then all I can say is … it’s working. Tip of the cap to you, Mr. Prince. I don’t think the other bitches stand a chance.