I want to warn you in advance, this recap may have a few gaps in it.  This is because I think the stress of watching it may have given me a small aneurysm.  Thanks, Roosters.  It certainly isn’t because of the copious amounts of wine I drank or because we cracked open the beers at work at 2pm.  Ahem. 

Also, it might contain a few profanities.  Thanks, touch judges.

The boys are playing at the Footy Stadium and people have been talking this match up all week as a Local Derby, and using words like Bad Blood, Rivalry, Tradition, and Vengeance. 

I have some of my own phrases to describe it though, like ‘if the Roosters go missing again tonight I will cry myself to sleep,’ ‘why is Pamela Anderson here?’ and ‘PLEASE STOP MENTIONING CRAIG WING AND HIS SHOULDER WE DIDN’T MEAN TO BREAK HIM PLUS WE TOTALLY ALREADY APOLOGISED FOR THAT.’

Pic: Mark Evans / news.com.au

It’s only a few seconds after kick-off and I start to freak out.  Apparently our favourite ageless komodo dragon, Craig Fitzgibbon, isn’t captaining the Roosters tonight.  Um … who, what?  No Fitzy?  Ma perche?  Braith Anasta will be captain in his place, and while I love Braithy, this is most distressing.  Even moreso when someone hints that the reason might be an attitude problem.  I am speechless.  I have no speech.  Next I’ll be hearing Steve Menzies has a petty theft problem.  SAY IT ISN’T SO!

It just feels … wrong.  Is there something in the air?  Because the adorable Issac Luke is starting from the bench for South Sydney, which also seems weird and wrong.  Plus Sam Perrett has combed his hair forward into some kind of Julius Caesar fringe and it looks horrendous, and for some reason Craig Wing – who I’m sure favours his right foot – has just kicked twice from his left boot. I keep expecting Warrick Moss to pop in and scare the bejesus out of me.

The Rabbitohs are holding onto the ball like happy greedy children, racking up multiple sets in a row.  When they pack a scrum Craig Wing is standing in the middle of the front row laughing from the sheer joy of it all. 

The Roosters for some reason are enjoying – when they do have the ball – passing it to no one in particular.  If you were aiming for that gap behind Aubusson, then you were right on the money, kids!

Scott Geddes seems to have taken a little trip to Disneyworld and I guess it must have been from the fend Willie Mason just gave him.  I know he’s a big man with big dinnerplate hands, but really?  That must be one hell of a fend. 

Anasta sends a huge bomb downfield and Luke Capewell whips it from the air. He has improved so so much this season.  Also, I would like to mention he is completely fucking adorable.  You win at life Lukey!

The Roosters somehow manage to turn another pass-to-nobody from Setaimata Sa into an Amos Roberts try.  AAAAH!  So it was a STRATEGY.  You evil genius, Mr Fittler.  4-0.

Mitchell Pearce decides that this would be a really good time to score another try, so he calls an impromptu huddle to prepare for the next scrum and a Roosters feed.   He whips out a miniature wooden easel, a set of yellowing blueprints and a large antique Globe, puts on his reading glasses and begins outlining his elaborate plan for the next play to the rest of the Roosters. 

Once he’s certain they all understand the play, he walks out of the footy stadium, chops down a tree, handily carves it into a rudimentary ballot box, and asks the rest of the players to vote on whether they will go ahead with The Plan, which has been officially dubbed Proposition #429.

I assume it gets passed, because the Roosters take the ball from the scrum and move into a tricksy blindside play.  That ends in disaster when Setaimata Sa completely ignores a pass and Souths take possession.  I think I hear Pearce yelling ‘… I ASKED if you had any questions and YOU SAID NO.’

Pic: Getty Images

Mitch Aubusson passes the ball to the crowd over the sideline.  Phil Gould thinks both teams are trying hard but are both out of form.  I think … yes.  And on the field, as in the sack, it doesn’t matter how hard you try if you don’t know what you’re doing.  All the effort in the world won’t change the fact that … honey, that’s not where the clitoris is.  Trust me. Really, it’s not.

A pass from Pearce to Anasta turns into a Mitch Aubusson try in the left hand corner and yes!  getting warmer!  Souths are whinging about a forward pass but I care not.  There was a forward Souths pass that the ref missed in like the first five minutes.  The difference is that I didn’t mention that one.  Because I’m POLITE.

Galapagos Island turtle Fitzgibbon is still out of sorts and misses the conversion: 8-0.

Mess happens, then Anasta sends Anthony Tupou through a gap for a try just before halftime. Conversion, 14-0.

Pic: Getty Images

The second half has me spilling my drink in joy as Sam Perrett dives over the try line trailing John Sutton and Craig Wing, and Anasta follows that try up with another for 22-0.  It all happens in less than ten minutes and Souths haven’t even touched the ball yet. 

And can I just say I am all over Anasta tonight.  It took me a little while to warm up to him in the Roosters jersey, and it seems like everyone else in the world has decided on some reason to dislike him, but I’m sold.  TEAM BRAITH.  I’ve seen him punched in the face (twice), shouldered in the face, blamed for losing Origin, and I’ve even seen him crawl on his hands and knees across the footy stadium in round one before he was able to get up and rejoin the game.  Bitch is unstoppable and I love it. 

What I am not all over is the Souths uniform.  Black does not go with red and green.  That is all. Russell Crowe, if you are reading, could you possibly bring back the white shorts and accessories? Thanks darlin.

The Roosters have been gradually losing their shit for a little while onthe field and Souths finally capitalise with a lovely Nathan Merritt break for a try.  I find out Geddes didn’t hurt his brain earlier he just got poked in the eye.  I shouldn’t laugh, should I?  The Roosters decide the Rabbitohs deserve another so Perrett takes a John Sutton kick in-goal and drops it for Sutton to ground.  Someone is talking about offside but HOW CAN YOU BE OFFSIDE IF YOU WERE THE KICKER?  Insane.

22-10.

I am completely lost and confused when all of a sudden Souths have about eight tackles in a row and the little tackle counter shows no numbers at all and the only thing the commentators seem to be talking about is cricket analogies.  THAT ISN’T HELPING.  Braith Anasta is busy having a philosopshical discussion with Referee Lyon about whether a marker can be allowed to chase when the ref calls advantage then pulled up for a tackle later.  I DON’T KNOW BRAITH, THIS IS ALL HURTING MY BRAIN.

Pic: Mark Evans / news.com.au

I squeal with delight when little Issac Luke magics a break and leaps and prances downfield for a try.  See this is why I can’t believe he was on interchange! He is too fabulous for words.  Sandow and his amazing bumblebee boots convert for 22-16. 

This makes me smile, because it’s probably true:

Voss:  How do you think Freddy’s feeling right now?

Gould: He’s probably eating a muffin.

With only five minutes left on the game clock, and on the fifth tackle of a Rabbitohs set, some man I’ve never heard of named MacPherson kicks into goal.  Mitchell Pearce decides to ignore the ball and let it roll through his legs as adorable Luke Capewell leaps in and grounds it.  TRYYYYYYY!  I’M SO HAPPY!  AND EXCITED!  BUT HEARTBROKEN! 

THERE’S NO EMOTICON FOR WHAT I’M FEEEEEEELING.

Now I can’t tell you whether what happens next is just dumb luck, or some kind of cosmic intervention by Jack Gibson, but Sandow’s conversion attempt HITS THE GOAL POST and bounces away.  The score stays at 22-20 and oh yeah, there’s the aneurysm.

And with only twenty seconds to play, Sandow’s bumblebee boots kick a 40-20 and I swear my heart literally stops beating.  The bunnies race to pack their half of a scrum against mid air.  Somehow the touch judge decides it’s not a 40-20 and I involuntarily throw the remote and scream BULLSHIT! BULLSHIT TOUCHIE!

The last twenty seconds tick away and I am spent.  I’m so relieved the Roosters won despite all their best efforts in the second half to throw their lead away; I’m so disappointed Souths didn’t get their miracle comeback; and I’m so in love with the little halfbacks.  Mitchell Pearce was a defensive wall in the first half, and Chris Sandow was creativity personified in the second.

I think maybe they call this feeling … sportsmanship?

Well Intern Brownie and I are officially on non-speaks. Again. I hate when we have our little tiffs.

After the undignified thrashing that Intern Greg Bird and his sharks gave my Roosters on friday night (20-0! Kill me now!), compared with the Dragons 34-6 win over the Warriors, Intern Brownie has been unbearable. Dancing around the office celebrating his team’s finals chances, singing ‘Saved by the Dell’ and occasionally making sad little chicken noises.

NOBODY LIKES A GLOATER, BROWNIE.

And because I can’t blame my boys, or Saint Freddy (even though he seems to want to blame himself) I’ve become very upset with Intern Brownie.

It’s blindingly obvious by now that the Roosters have some serious psychological issues going on. I know they can win games, they just can’t manage to want to win games. It’s ripping my heart out to watch. Which is why I can’t blame them, you know? Those kids have enough to deal with. My message to the boys is just forget about the loss and concentrate on reciting the affirmations your therapist gave you:

I AM WORTHY OF LOVE AND ADMIRATION.

I HAVE UNTAPPED AND INFINITE POTENTIAL.

I DESERVE SUCCESS.

Good boys. They’ll start working soon.

It’s a shame too, because Brownie and I had been having such a lovely week. Knocking off work at lunch to lie top-n-tail on the couch and watch the Olympic diving together, eating jelly snakes and giving insightful commentary on the springboard events, re-enacting rhythmic gymnastic routines using the left over crepe paper from Hot Man Christmas. See if I play ‘Italian ribbons routine’ with you this week, mister. Hmph.

I should probably also point out at this point that the Errol office is in disarray this morning anyway, and I’m sure you can guess why. We awoke to the news that Intern Greg Bird won’t be fronting up for work today … because he’s kind of in jail.

Needless to say this is Not Good News to face first thing on a Monday. We Errol girls aren’t very good at mornings in general life, let alone when one of our employees has been charged with assault. I’ve already had two high-kick Mimosas ** and it’s not even ten thirty yet.

And I think for now, that’s all we’ll say about that.

Back to my sad chooks for a moment. The only bright spot in that whole game was that Paul Gallen’s grapple tackle on our Errol favourite, David Shillington, caused a little bit of push-n-shove. Shirt-lifting push-n-shove. Our favourite kind!

pic: Getty Images / smh.com.au

Have you been working out more, Shillo? On the Parramatta low-carb diet? Either way we’re all very impressed. Even John John!

And it seems like the Roosters are also determined to outdo Manly as the most retro team in the league. They’ve introduced some snazzy new workout suits and debuted them at the Roosters fan BBQ. It almost goes without saying that I approve. So seventies! So New York Jew!

(Thanks to Browder for the fab Braith pic)

CHAS TENENBAUM I LOVE YOUR WORK!

Now onto the Warriors (STOP LAUGHING, INTERN BROWNIE. JESUS). I’m going to be honest, for most of this season I was completely indifferent to the Warriors. Didn’t like em, didn’t hate em. Plus they were kind of far away so it was easy to just pretend they didn’t exist. That was all before they started their mass beardathon. It is hilarious and I love it.

The Channel Nine commentary team announced on Sunday they have solved The Mystery of The Beards (that they’re tributes to Ruben Wiki) but … didn’t we all know that already? Way to fall off the pace Channel Nine! We here at Errol have been discussing this vitally important news story at our afternoon cocktail hour for weeks. WEEKS I TELL YOU! We are all over the facial hair news.

And we are especially all over it insofar as it involves Michael Witt and his amazing ginger moustache. We just love a man who grows a surprise ginger mo and doesn’t shave it off in a moment of despair and vanity. Perhaps I misjudged you, Mr Witt. FLY THE FLAG WITTY! We love it.

Meanwhile the Tigers have brought back the old Wests jerseys to wear while being beaten by Manly. FINALLY, A V NECK. I’m ever so happy. Because do you know who looks good in a round neck? That’s right, the answer is “not football players”.

Sure they may not have won, but they looked fabulous. Look how flattering that is. Especially on Daine Laurie as he scored two one-man tries, side-stepping defence with his old gold legs, dreadlocks in full flight. The man must be eight feet tall.

And in the process of winning over the Tigers, how much better was Anthony Watmough’s game? I like to think he has been paying attention to his horoscopes and spent a morning at home focussing and preparing mentally for his game:

Spend a little extra time and energy at home today, as there are issues just starting to arise that you can handle with ease at this point.

The other possibility is that Des Hasler giving the boys the silent treatment after their loss last week to the Rabbitohs scared them into a win. Oh, Des! The silent treatment? Can’t you just imagine it?

I hope that while he was refusing to speak to the boys he also made extra noise while he did the washing-up in the kitchen and bashed pots and pans together and when anyone asked what was wrong just shouted “NOTHING. I’M FINE. CAN’T A MAN WASH UP WITHOUT BEING QUESTIONED ALL THE TIME?”

Poor boys though. Apparently the Manly kids just can’t make anyone happy lately. As if it’s not bad enough that they pissed off the wardrobe mistress and art director of the Gods of Football and were forced to play poker in their white hospital boxers for a segment on The Footy Show. That was super awkward.

And, kittens, I hate to leave you on a sad note, but in the Raiders vs South Sydney game yesterday Troy Thompson was taken off field with a ruptured achilles, and Marc-with-a-C Herbert with a medial ligament injury.

NOT THE HERB! We are utterly heartbroken. Herb is one of our Errol favourites and we can’t bear to think of the rest of the season without him. Rest up for 2009 Herbie baby.

* Next time I promise to actually write something about, you know, football. This week you just have to settle for the Important Business of uniform fashions, facial hair, and therapy updates.

** If you were wondering, it’s just like a regular Mimosa, but with an extra shot of Tanqueray, for that little high kick to the brain. WHEE!

Full disclosure time: I’m a Roosters fan, so like Willie Mason I’m programmed to hate the Rabbitohs. I may even be typing this while wearing a Roosters navy blue fleecy throw-rug as a cape (it was a gift, ok?). But I’m going to try to be as nice as possible and use as few profanities as I can while I recap.

I actually didn’t even mean to watch this game, but:

a) I’m feeling shady on the couch on a Saturday night
b) it’s the only game on
c) I didn’t realise Bring it On (BEST MOVIE EVER) was on free-to air, and
d) I kind of enjoy watching train wrecks.

The game is at Bluetongue stadium up in Gosford (hi John Singleton!) and I have no idea why. Back in my day, sonny, there were home games and away games. There were no ‘random central coast’ or ‘random Homebush stadium’ corporate agreement games. There are about eight people in the crowd and one of them is a man with a giant gut and a hearty ginger moustache wearing a Rabbitohs jersey and a Rabbitohs green construction helmet. Bless. I hope that helmet has a plastic beer dispenser attached to the side I can’t see.

Greg Alexander and Warren Smith are commentating, and while I love Greg (hello his nickname is Brandy. Awesome), between these two guys the commentary is about as thrilling as a box of hair, so clearly I’m gonna have to entertain myself.

Dallas Johnson runs on in a headgear and I laugh again to myself like a crazy person at the memory of him getting knocked out and staggering off-field in the first Origin match. Might I suggest a stackhat instead, you battler? I’m so going to hell.

Cameron Smith is all beardy AS ALWAYS. Does the man never shave? And why is his stubble grey? Nigel Vagana (heh, Nigel) is wearing his tiny Mexican moustache and mind-puzzle braided hair that I love so much.

I think George Ndaira from the Rabbitohs is wearing some kind of crazy bright white cotton bandage around his head like a cartoon character with a head injury … seriously? I have no idea. Folau comes out of the dressing room eating, as always (you don’t get that large by skimping on nutrition).

David Kidwell is still on the team even though he gets inappropriately drunk, and this makes me happy. Binge drinkers represent! I think he still has a bad knee from injuring himself playing with his daughter in the backyard. I love an un-coordinated professional athlete.

We have a minute’s silence for the late Rabbitoh Jack Rayner – I start wondering if the NRL is killing the old blokes off to make the Centenary year more poignant – and Cam Smith kicks off to start the game.

In the first set of six we get a close up of Billy Slater’s ass and I am totally convinced that purple satin shorts are a terrible idea. Little Isaac Luke is playing halfback, who, by the way, I totally love. I’m not sure why, but I think it’s partly cause he’s the replacement Craig Wing – and I do adore little Wingy, sorry the Roosters broke your shoulder in round one! – and maybe also partly because I like hearing the commentators just call him Luke. Like Cher.

A few minutes in Greg and Warren announce that this is South’s best set of six for the game, which basically means no one has dropped the ball. The Storm come close to a try but about 25 Souths players hold Steve Turner off the line. I wish I could tell you which ones, but since they kicked the drunks out of the team I honestly have no idea. They all look vaguely the same and I also don’t care because the Rabbitohs bore me. Let’s just say a mob of Miscellaneous Bunnies do good stuff in defence. I feel better when Warren tries to describe it and can’t figure out who the hell they are either. “Turner is held off by Kidwell, Merrett … and … others.”

Three minutes in, No Neck Slater fumbles a kick from Cooper Cronk and misses a try. Maybe it’s because he can’t look up! Five minutes in Turner knocks on a Cronk kick for no try. Little Luke tackles Slater and he drops the ball. This is going to be a long game.

Eight minutes in, Asotasi comes close for a try. Vagana makes it over and is held up for no try. Rabbitohs get another set and Widders manages to fuck up their excellent field position by passing a lofty and lovely pass to no one and over the side line.

The cameraman is obviously a total bitch because he keeps cutting away to sad little Jason Taylor sitting all by himself on the sideline in a beige plastic chair and looking more Matthew Perry-esque than ever. Greg reckons from the sideline “you can’t see anything! All you can see is legs”. I’m pretty sure that explains that.

By thirteen minutes in, Melbourne find a massive gap around Vagana and send Chambers through for a try. Scruffy Smith can’t convert, but at least there are points on the board. Scotty Sattler on the sideline gives his summary of the game as Melbourne being “flat” and Souths playing with “controlled desperation”. He’s pretty much right.

No Neck Slater drops the ball. A Miscellaneous Bunny drops the ball. No Neck Slater drops the ball a few more times. By twenty minutes in I realise I’m barracking for the Rabbitohs. Whyyyy? God I am such a masochist.

Jeff Lima gives away a penalty for holding a tackle, but I suspect it’s because he was too fat to get up. He is quite the barrel of a man. Johnny Sutton loses the ball to Billy Slater. Don’t worry, he’ll drop it soon! This is all getting too tragic for words.

Cronk kicks across field and instead of anyone actually trying to catch it, Anthony Quinn just jumps onto Vagana’s back like a monkey. Next a ball literally falls out of the scrum into the middle of nowhere. In one spectacularly bad set, Dean Widders passes to no one near the try line; No Neck Slater misses the ball, Chambers tries to kick it and succeeds only in standing on Vagana. Vagana headbutts the ball into goal, and Cronk knocks it dead. No try. THIS IS CHAMPAGNE FOOTBALL, PEOPLE.

Thank Christ it’s halftime! 4-0 to Melbourne. I get a beer, in case being drunk will make this go faster.

We come back with a really creepy recording playing of little kids singing ‘Glory to South Sydney’. It will haunt my dreams. Brett White’s being massaged by a trainer and I start to find him oddly hot. Is this like some variant of Stockholm syndrome?

I realise this is not going to be much better than half one. On a big kick from Cronk, Vagana pushes his own teammate over and lets the Storm almost score a try. WHAT IS GOING ON? I can only guess he has money on the opposition. Or he has syphilis, and it’s making him insane.

Souths knock on.

Melbourne knock on.

I consider topping myself.

Vagana is sent off limping. Probably another teammate kicked him in the shin for being a useless douche. Cronk drops the ball. Souths kick the ball into a Melbourne player’s head. I get a horrifying shot of Cronk’s red undies. He must wear them every week:

Idiot Souths give away a penalty kick for two points. Storm grab another try and conversion. Try to the Bunnies (FINALLY) and a puff-n-shimmy and conversion for little Luke. Field goal to Cronk.

Score is 13-6.
My mental state is “controlled desperation”.

Another penalty kick – two points for the Storm. Police lights are flashing in the distance. Oh, how I love the Central Coast!

Another try for the Bunnies thanks to Struggles Vagana.

15-10 to the Storm … and finally, the pain is over. I need another beer.