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

Sassy on her way to the SFS

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

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

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

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

^ Sad Roosters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sassy likes mah headband? SCORE.
Pic. Mark Nolan

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Poor journalism!

Pic. Getty Images

It’s official. God hates the Roosters. We are the Bulldogs of 2009.

Seriously LOOK at Sam Perrett’s face. That is not the face of a man who’s being dealt a good hand by the Gods. Lozzy says it looks like a Tarot card … one of the really bleak ones where the universe is telling you that a fridge is gonna drop on you or you have chlamydia.

I think it looks like the face of someone who’s been through the frogs and gnats plagues, and is starting to get scared about what other plagues God has in store. There are ten? Shit!

And this is the bit where I would talk about what happened in the weekend game against the Cowboys … cept at 7.30 I kinda fell unconscious asleep on the couch and missed the whole thing cause I have tonsilitis and a fever like woah. Um, sorry boys. I feel so guilty. I feel like somehow they must know I didn’t watch. It’s not cause I don’t love you, babies! I do! It’s totally not their fault that I have tonsils of death and am too scared to go have them taken out even though my whole family keeps pestering me about it. Operations are scary, k?

But I wanna talk about my boys anyway.

Sure they lost the last two games, but after losing the four games before that I’m kind of immune to disappointment. Notching up one more is like waking up and seeing the sky is blue. At least they played with some passion, right? I definitely saw commitment. Also, I saw them do some things that were competent and effective. Amazing! 

Last week when they played the Titans I almost EXPLODED with pride. Even though about 85 of our players are injured (as opposed to just Minichiello, like usually) the Roosters were chances. Is there any sweeter word?

Well probably ‘winners’, but not for the Chooks. Let’s be realistic.

Admittedly at one point Braith Anasta bounce-passed the ball to Mitchell Pearce, then Mitchell got penalised for throwing the ball away pissily like John MacEnroe … doesn’t that sum up the Roosters’ year? When does that ever happen? God my team are losers.

But the rangas in the team were on fire. Ben Jones made some awesome plays (and scored this week too), Love Shack was his lovable self (and scored this week too), strawberry blond Maubs got over the line and Ranga Tom Symonds proved that good footy players can come from the East too.

For reals, Tommy is a Bondi junior player. You’re not alone anymore Cherro! There are now two actual Easts Juniors in the team. It’s deadset like seeing Dodos playing in Roosters jerseys. It’s a miracle!

It also makes me think how awesome it would be if my plan eventually came true and we could end up with an all-ranga Roosters team. THE RED ROOSTERS. They would be unstoppable. Also, perfect for a Red Rooster mini-NRL figurine promotion. Sadly Love Shack has signed with Parramatta now and ruined his chance to be part of it. DAMN YOU LOVE SHACK.

More importantly, my Chooks looked splendid in their Women in League round jerseys. I love that they went with the bright pink numbers with navy on a white background. The colours were very Doo.Ri Spring/Summer 2009. MY BOYS ARE SO FASHION-FORWARD.

So pretty!

But the funtimes of the last two weeks of the Roosters sucking-less-than-usual have come to a crashing halt. Cap’n Braith Anasta (you can tell which one he is by his little Captain’s hat) broke his ankle against the Cowboys and can’t play for the whole rest of the season.

……………………

WE REALLY ARE THE 2008 BULLDOGS REINCARNATED.

Seriously, is there anyone left in the team now who is over 21 and not injured, other than Craig Fitzgibbon? Shit is getting ridiculous. It’s like Foil Fitzy is running a daycare centre now. I imagine he would be like Arnie in Kindergarten Cop, dragging all the little chooks around on his biceps and making them do military drills while he makes them his organic healthy meals and confiscates their chocolates. THEY WILL ONLY MAKE YOU FAT, ANTHONY CHERRINGTON.

Not to mention that we mght be kind of screwed without Cap’n Anasta. In most of our games Braith Anasta’s crotch is man of the match. Sigggggh.

And the worst thing is we’re not even an upgrade on the Bulldogs in terms of our shit fortunes. They got an international manhunt, we get … Blind Freddy. At least international manhunts are fun! I was a bandit for Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego as a kid.

Meanwhile, after hearing the drunk Brad Fittler story, my mum feels bad for him. She’s stayed in that hotel for work and says considering that it’s ROUND shaped, and reception is on level three for some ridiculous unknown reason, getting lost in there while sober is an easy mistake to make. She says it’s like trying to find your room in a slinky. If anything, Freddy’s a victim of poor architecture. WHEN WILL THE ARCHITECTURAL MADNESS STOP?

So, really, God AND architects hate the Roosters. Don’t worry, I still love you boys.

You knew we were gonna say it … didn’t you?  After our lengthy discussion last week about whether Queenslanders have trotters instead of feet (they totally do) we finally have proof. Proof in the form of Queenslander Ben Hannant and his positive test for Swine Flu.

WE KNEW IT. WE LOVE BEING RIGHT.

So in the interests of protecting the non-porcine members of the NRL, all the Queensland Origin boys are being quarantined from their regular teammates. No more eating at the same trough, sleeping in the same barn and rolling in the same mud. Instead it’s all face-masks and Tamiflu for the maroons this week.

The NSWRL consider redesigning the Blues’ State of Origin uniforms.

And I would like to take this opportunity to say: You bastards! Usually it’s my favourite thing of all when embarassing things happen to Queenslanders .. but today I found out the adorable Bert from Country Rugby League has been quarantined. THOSE FILTHY QUEENSLANDERS INFECTED NSW TOO! Is this some kind of Queensland sabotage scheme to help them win a fourth Origin series? We always knew all bad things came out of Queensland.

Meanwhile we are bloggers (ie we have no lives) so if Bert gets lonely he should just call us and we’ll come over with movies and braid his hair and entertain him. We can wear SARS masks in our NRL team colours and everything. We love you, Bert!

Bert works remotely from his Swine Flu bubble.

I’ll admit though, I am starting to feel a little bit sorry for Ben Hannant. First he gets publically outed with the runs, now he’s the NRL’s first Swine Flu casualty. Either there’s someone out there with a Ben Hannant voodoo doll and a really black sense of humour, or he played some really embarassing practical jokes on the other kids in primary school and has some violent humiliation karma stored up in the universe.

Ben Hannant gets increasingly lonely and desperate for friends in quarantine.

If I wasn’t scared of a) getting Swine Flu, and b) getting poked in the eye by one of his trotters, I would totally offer to give him a hug.

This story would also be a whole lot funnier if I wasn’t writing this …. from Queensland. We came up for a little long weekend Errol conference on the Gold Coast, and to see the Titans play the Dragons on Monday night, now we find ourselves in the middle of a fucking rugby league Swine Flu drama. Nothing worse than trying to deal with Swine Flu on a hangover. Right, Robbie Farah?

Lucky for all of us Israel Folau and Sam Thaiday have been holding jumpers over their faces while they walk around being filmed by the press. That’ll save us! Nothing stops disease like a knitted acrylic!

At least the Broncos tried. Apparently no one at the Dragons remembered to tell Darius ‘Astro’ Boyd that he is a Swine Flu pariah and wasn’t meant to be wandering around in the locker room at Skilled Stadium before the Dragons played the Titans.

And yes, that is Astro Boyd loitering in front of a bottle recycling bin, even though he is quite clearly not holding anything even close to a bottle. It’s possible this is because he is poorly informed about recycling, and just doesn’t understand what yellow lids mean. But I am 99% sure it was because he was ronery and just really wanted someone to talk to since the rest of the Dragons keep ignoring him cause he never passes the ball. I guess that’s a good thing, cause it means they probably won’t be infected. Kiki says thanks for being a ball-hog, Darius. V. considerate of you.

Turns out that one good thing about sucking as much as my Roosters do this season is that when you have no players selected for Origin, you get to stay safe from disease. We is healthy, healthy losers. I’m sorry, what did you say? Did you say I am clutching desperately at straws to distract myself from the fact that my team is now at the bottom of the ladder?

Pic. Anthony Johnson / smh.com.au

Well spotted, cause I was. On Sunday night when I was getting my face on for a night on the town in Surfers, Lozzy and Kiki kindly got me out of the shower and into the hall just so they could tell me that the Sharks had won a game … and my team was officially coming last. I literally lay down in the hall in my towel motionless for a good five minutes. Being better than the Sharks was all I had!

To make up for their two wins in a row, though, the Sharks Club mustered up another scandal involving Tony Zappia and his resignation. Well done, Sharkies. David Gallop says the NRL are gonna leave them to their own devices and won’t have an intervention. I say that’s a wasted opportunity.

Have you ever seen Intervention? That show is AMAZING. It’s the most addictive television I’ve ever seen. You know it’s wrong but you just can’t help watching. One time I even cried. If I was in charge I’d totally be holding a Sharks intervention. They could hold it in the Shire and televise it to raise enough money to pay off the Sharks’ ridiculous debt. People love watching other people who have worse problems than they do. It would be a ratings blockbuster. Sigh.

Meanwhile since Brett Finch left the Eels to go to the Storm, it seems like it’s partytime all around. The Eels now have Daniel (Son of Pete) Mortimer and Jeff Robson in the halves and flattened the Knights at home. Turns out Dan Dan Mortimer doesn’t just have the prettiest eyes in league, he also has a fucking nifty kicking game.

And my favourite double-double-named NRL player Fui Fui Moi Moi has taken over from Steve Matai as Ray Warren’s fave hairstyle in the NRL. Rabs never talks about his man Matai’s cornrows anymore … it’s all Fui Fui and his braids. He thinks, and I quote: “It’s a celebration!” And according to the Queensland Channel 9 sports reporter, his ‘hair tips’ match his jersey. HAIR TIPS? Like … a big book of hair tips? God Queenslanders are so weird.

Pic. Darren Pateman

I think it makes him look youthful … no?

And down in Melbourne Finch is working it Johnathan Thurston style:

…. it’s Brett Finch, BITCH.

No wonder he’s so happy. He’s obviously in the honeymoon stages of a Cooper Cronk bromance. Peeing together in the street, and rocking out shirtless in the locker room together. The Melby dressing room is starting to look like Arq (aka shirtless heaven) … so I totally get it. I have had some damn good nights out at Arq in my time.

In my mind they’re dancing to Kelly Rowland and the Cher megamix.

*discos out of the post*

Thanks as always to BS for the fabulous screen caps. Love you!

That’s right, babies, this year isn’t just the Errol’s Year of Regional Australia. We are also trying to be less one-eyed and lazy and get out to games that aren’t at the SFS/don’t involve our teams. This is tricky, because we already usually have to go to two games, and our friends are already whinging about us disappearing for 26 weekends every footy season. SORRY GUYZ! You’re welcome to come to Super Saturday at Sassy’s house if you like? You can even jump under the blankie with us!

First stop: Campbelltown for the Broncos vs Tigers. Or as we like to call it, C-TOWN! YEAH!

[When I was trying to organise this, Sassy said 'Yes of course I'll come. Now ... where is Campbelltown?'. No shit. Obviously our horizon expanding year was more necessary than I realised. - K]

The majesty of the Formule 1 is unmatched

Anyway, we imagined popping out to C-Town on the M7 for some partytimes at the game, and a bevvie at the Leagues Club afterwards with the lovely Julianne … apparently the Universe had other plans. These plans involved us sitting in roadworks for 2 hours in the pouring rain and missing the entire first half of the game. Then sitting in the hallway of the Formule 1 ($49 hotel rooms! awes!) for half an hour while they tried to open the door to our room. Um … sorry Tigers. Truth is,  it’s we who suffered the most by missing the Troublesome Spectator who tackled Jared Maxwell. It’s not the same on TV.

So instead of cheering on the Tigers to a (narrow) loss while being soaked with rain, we just had drinks at the leagues club. Honestly? Yeah we’re pretty ok with that.

Daaaaamn Wests Leagues Club is pumping on a Friday night. It’s all pimped out with orchids and fountains and young people all snazzed up with their iPhones. It’s like being in Vegas, or something. It even has that vague smell of perfume and fountain chlorine like Vegas hotels do.

Apparently Easts Leagues Club hasn’t really heard about stuff like flowers and piccolos of champagne and … people under 40. They’ve only just caught onto the Yum Cha trend. The highlight of the Leagues Club was Kiki spotting the stupendously gorgeous Tigers rookie, Blake Ayshford (member of the Hottie McHotHots), and getting so flustered she spilt champagne all over herself AND Sassy.

And unless you wanna hear about Kiki’s 1 hour romance with an handsome ex-con, rocking out with 18 year olds, or Sassy’s giant stack that earned her a free drink from the Camden Hotel that’s kinda all we can say about that night.

So we moved onto Plan B. A Saturday evening spent with the Roosters,  Panthers and our Orange BFF Tige at CUA stadium in Penrith. Or ‘at the foot of the mounntaiiinnnsss’ as Ray Warren likes to say. Heart Ray.

Once again it was – to use the proper meteorological term – pissing the fuck down.

Which leads us to ask: James Blundell, why do you lie? For most of our childhood he and James Reyne told us it was “way out west where the rain don’t fall“. This is clearly untrue.

WHY DO YOU LIIIIIE? (PS – cracker of a song though)

So turns out CUA Stadium is kind of fantastic.  Yep, really. We would talk about the actual game, but that would mean Sassy has to accept the fact that her beloved Chookies are completely shithouse. And she’s just not ready to do that yet. Close your eyes and think of the Love Shack, Sassy! We do have to admit though that Jennings is a fucking delight to watch.  We adore all the Panthers, and we did discuss Petero/Shane Elford’s strength on the wing/Lachlan Coote’s toughness … but mainly, it was Jennings. Watching him with the ball is almost as exciting as High School Musical. Almost. We are excited/terrified to see him play in Origin.

Reasons Footy In Penrith is Tops-

* Easy access to gambling. Is there anything better than a TAB in a caravan? We say no.

* Oh wait, there is something better….A SAUSAGE SIZZLE! A snag sandwich and drink combo for 7 bucks. You don’t get this kind of value in the Sydney city limits. At the SFS that same 7 dollars would buy you approx 3 and a half undercooked hot chips.

* The glorious, glorious hill. It ain’t really footy without a hill. You know it’s true. The one in Penrith is downright LOVELY.  Even when we had to buy ponchos to sit on we still didn’t regret buying GA tickets. By the way, sitting on wet grass during a rainstorm = slowly sliding downwards. To stay still is rather difficult on the ass muscles. Thanks for the buns of steel-esque workout CUA!

* The announcer has excellent taste in music. Every time Jennings makes a break he whacks on Greased Lightning. AWESOME. Then there’s the way he plays 50 Cent’s In Da Club whenever the Panthers score a try. That alone is amazing, but add to that the fact they have whacked in a recording of people singing LETS GO PANTHERS…LETS GO to the tune of the song. Best.thing.ever.

(Apologies to Tige for busting out embarassing dance moves every time music was played. We just can’t help ourselves)

* Being so close to the action. It’s so … well it’s old school. So many of the stadiums these days are so far removed from the boys it’s almost a waste of time to go see the games live. Whats the point of footy if you can’t hear the OOOOOOF when they run into each other? More importantly, what’s the point of footy if you can’t see Hottest Bitch in League 08 Nominee Matty Bell stretching his hip flexor right in front of you. HELLO ASS!

And that’s about it. Despite getting soaking wet (heheh..wet) we totes had fun frolicking in Sydney’s west. Next stop – Canberra. Watch out T.Camps!

WELL

I’M SICK AGAIN

Well I was sick. Last week. BIG TIMES. Something weird is going on. Either Greg Inglis is still working that Kiki voodoo doll or I seriously fucked someone over in a previous life. I’m gonna blame GI. Why? Because I can.

(Yes … that is me in a Dragons sleeping bag photoshopped into a hospital bed, well spotted readers.Well spotted.)

So last Tuesday night I felt a bit icky but powered on with Important Errol Business. Then I started vomming and didn’t stop for 7 hours. I ended up being rushed to the Emergency Room so I didn’t like, die from dehydration, or whatever it is that happens when you vom for 7 hours straight. I had an IV and about 25.7 litres of fluids and lots of drugs I can’t pronounce.

It was very Hollywood dramz. I was tres shitty I forgot to take my phone so I could be all Solange Knowles and update Twitter on my sicky adventures. Needless to say it was scary and upsetting and really gross. The most horrific thing about the whole experience was when the nurse WEIGHED ME. As if I wasn’t traumatised enough now I have climb on the bloody scales. Bastards.

I left with a truly disgusting bruise on my hand from the IV needle thingy and that’s it. They didn’t even hook me up with some sweet painkillers. I swear, what is the point of private health care if I don’t get mind altering drugs? Outrage! Joke! FARCE!

ANYWAY I struggled through the rest of the week (thank god I work from home in my PJ’s, oh the life of a professional blogger) hoping to get better for the Most Important Day of the Year aka ANZAC Day. In all seriousness, I hold ANZAC Day really close to my heart. It’s one of the only things I take seriously. It is a beautiful beautiful day and it makes me so incredibly proud to be Australian.

I love the solemn reflective mornings and the raucous two-up fuelled afternoons. As if that wasn’t brilliant enough, my beloved Dragons play the Chookies. I had an awesome day lined up. But my body said NO WAY KIKIPANTS. So I spent the day at home instead. BOOOOO. Thankfully Sassy came to visit me. I even put on actual pants for her. Okay, thats a lie. But I did put on a bra. Damnit….that’s a lie too.

Soooooo … THE DRAGONS WON! HOORAY! Obviously they heard I was rather poorly and decided to put on a winning performance for me. Right? Do it for the little girl in hospital, boys! Well at least Tiny Dancer Soward did, and thank god for that because that teeny package of awesome won us the game. Really, he did. 21 points all by himselfs! SOWIE KAPOWIE!

As the above picture clearly portrays, the Dragons were scarily awesome, Benny was at the helm creating fire with his bare hands and I was happy happy happy. I considered not labelling the pathetic corpsey bones as the Roosters to spare Sassy’s feelings … for about 2 seconds. HAH!

The game started off in the best way possible. One minute in and our beloved B.Moz pumps those impossibly long legs and goes over for a try! I leapt from the lounge and found myself upright for the first time all week. B.Moz cured me! He should start blessing water and shit. Get on that champ.

I deeply enjoy starting the game with a nice lil try. You know, despite what you read in Cosmo, sometimes a girl likes a bit of satisfication within the one minute mark. Just sayin.

Meanwhile I look over and Sassy was hiding under my dogs blanket. She knew it was gonna be a looooong afternoon. I kept reminding her although they may suck, at least her boys looked resplendent in their special ANZAC edition baby blue jerseys. Really, they look so pretty!

I could detail all the awes things the Dragons did (although there was still a few silly mistakes I’m not happy with, I’m sure Wayne is on that though) but let’s cut to the chase. The best thing about this game by far was the fully fledged return of Flossy Nightingale.YAAAAAY! Not only did he score a try, the adorable bitch busted out his best puppy dog cuteness on a scale not seen since 2008.

We here at Errol call him ‘the labrador of rugby league’. He just REALLY.LOVES.PLAYING.FOOTY. Obviously alot of players emote when they score tries, but what other player smiles whilst just … on the field? When Tiny Dancer busted through the line and scored that sweet sweet try Flossy just ran alongside him. Smiling, cheering and being a lovable little cheerleader. He just loves life. Life and footy and fun times! And we reckon he’s thought about licking people’s faces more than once. For the record Floss-Floss, you can lick my face anytime. WHO’S A GOOD BOYYYY?

Sup? Nothin…just warmin up my tongue.

Another highlight of the game was the way Sowie Kapowie popped over that cheeky field goal just before half time. No particular reason, just because he could. You know, the way I technically don’t have to write blogs for Errol but I do. Me and Tiny Dancer showin off our mad skillz just coz we caaaaan. WHAT WHAAAAT.

I kept waiting for the Chookies to score a try. Obviously I didn’t want them to win, but I wanted to see some semblance of a smile from Sassy. Truth be told she is kind of completely terrifying when the Roosters suck, I still haven’t recovered from the way she let loose after the Tigers game a few weeks back. We both looked expectantly at the TV … surely they must? Soon … it’s coming … almost … nope. Oh dears.

They finished the game at zip. Zero, nada, nothin … donut.

Mmmm….donut. If only the Chookies were covered in pink icing and sprinkles, I might like them a bit more. Just a suggestion.

pic – Anthony Johnson, LeagueHQ

Last weekend’s footy was a veritable festival of lolz. The Lolz Festival! I would totally go to that. Who am I kidding, I would be straight out performing. No…HEADLINING. Youse are all invited backstage of course. Together we will make that rider our bitch.

Err anyway, because Sassy and I are literally married we have a system where we support each others teams. She has been to the last few Dragons games with me, so this last Friday it was my turn to accompany her to watch the Chooks.  We proceeded to get quite drunk at our friend’s BBQ (hi Denee!) then tottled off to the footy.

To put it mildly, what a crap game. The atmosphere was non existent (sup cricket crowd!) and the first half was like watching a reggies match. The Chooks served up some of their trademark ridiculousness, including a player getting up to play the ball to no one, looking around to find a guy behind him….who was also looking around searching for someone. I squealed in horror and spilt my drink. THANKS CHOOKS. Those drinks deadset cost 15 dollars.

Meanwhile I spent most of the game trying to figure out how to get live scores from the Dragons game on my fone. I gave up and went back to the BBQ, hopped on Denee’s laptop and was delighted to see my babies came up with a win. Not a huge suprise, but god knows I love seeing the boys on the top of the table. I even did my Top Of The Table Dance which is basically star jumps until I get buggered and fall on the floor clutching my side in pain.

In natural light, Kiki’s bronzer looked decidedly greenish

Afterwards we walked stumbled down to the Leagues Club to meet some of the Bondi Rescue boys for a drink (I know, I know, we are such total celebs. Autograph line to left…). After way too many Smirnoff Blacks we decided it would be an awesome idea to accost poor Shaun Kenny-Dowall and ask him vitally important questions like ‘SKD! WHY DID U WEAR THONGS IN YOUR GODS OF FOOTBALL SHOOT? IS IT COZ YOU’RE SCARED OF GETTING TINEA?’

To his credit, he was very gracious and tolerant of our crazy. Also, we would like to apologise for terrorising some of the baby Chooks. Specifically to Sandor Earl for bringing up trimmed man pubes in our first ever conversation.

Back to the Dragons. Sadly Hot Bitch Cooper is STILL out, but obviously Channel 9 read Errol (well duh, who doesn’t) and decided to give me some sideline action to soothe my pain.

Joey - So Coops, how does it feel when Kiki violates you on the internet?
Hot Bitch – Yeh mate…not bad. Wish she would stop doing that heavy breathing thing on my voicemail though.

Tiny Dancer Soward continues to be an amazing human. Going great guns for the Drags, and more importantly for our beloved fantasy teams. His pre goal kicking dance routine is one of the top 5 greatest things about league. Like, ever. Obviously the Parra crowd doesn’t think so, those bitches were all up his business with their boos. Poor ignorant people. Everyone knows you do NOT interrupt Sowie Kapowie.

UM EXCUSE ME FUCKERS…BIT OF SHOOSH FOR MAH DANCE OKAY?

Sassy and I also watched the Cowboys v Titans. We don’t really care about either team, we just didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to watch not one but TWO teams in white shorts. Specially when said teams include Willy Zilly, John John and Luke O’Donnell. Granted, it did take us approximately 20 mins to figure out why the Cowboys looked to be playing in the Newtown Jets strip (hehe…strip), but it was totally worth it.

Onto Monday night footy. I tipped the Bunnies because well… it was Easter. Flawless logic right? WRONG. DAMN YOU RABBITOHS. Thankfully though, this game delivered two things I love: biff and lolz.

The biff was….okay, I wasn’t watching that closely. I’m still not quite sure what started it. But it sure escalated into something kind of amazing pretty quickly. Nothing says celebrating the resurrection of Christ like fisticuffs on the footy field right? We were delighted to see the muchly adorable Benny Lowe right in the middle of it. The man has curls, a sweet tan, great pins and most importantly…dimples. Clearly a new Errol fave.

This brawl’s for you, Jesus!

And then there were the lolz. These lolz stemmed from severe embarassment. Which everyone knows is the best kind of lolz. As the boys ran on for half time, a rain soaked Andy Raymond informed us that Ben Hannant wouldn’t be returning for awhile because he had a, and I quote, “case of the runs”. Oh….my god. As if tap arse isn’t embarassing enough on it’s own, now the poor bloke has to have it reported as news on national television.

Because my brother and I are basically 12 yr olds, we dissolved into a fit of giggles and started imagining if Hannant shat his pants whilst on the field. Would he have to go to the….Shit Bin? Would the ref stop the game? YOU…HANNANT..SHIT BIN! GET YOURSELF CLEANED UP! Would the trainers whack him in an adult diaper, give him a change of shorts and send him back on out there? Or maybe even…stitch his ass up?

And on that charming note, I’ll see you next week.

Screencaps from the awesome BS. Shooshing the crowd joke unashamedly stolen from Lozzy.

So we’re officially back in footy season, hurrah! And obviously we don’t just bring you our incredibly informative game recaps, we also like to hook you up with what the teams get up to at training and recovery. 

If nothing else, it should help you with your tips.

You certainly shouldn’t listen to me and my ‘intuition’, because after round 4 I am now sitting on an average of just over four correct tips a week.  Four!  Out of Eight!  

Do you know what that means? It means that my brain … my human brain, that biological miracle, that unbelievably complex labyrinth of nerve and synapse; when it comes to tipping, using my brain is pretty much as effective as using a coin.  My brain is no smarter than a small round disc made of brass. True story.

Anyway. Last week it was all about the water recovery session. And I’ve realised you can pretty much track the boys progress by their water sessions. Check out the Raiders last week rocking out in the Canberra aquatic center:

Is T Camps … singing? Why I do believe he is. Just bustin out a few showtunes as he jogs around the lap pool. Washing away the memory of getting beaten by the Eels and that bitch of a ref who disallowed their AWESOME split-scrum try.

And just look at the boys rocking out in the background.  For some reason we especially love the thought of Trevor Thurling joining in.  Or as some of our fans like to call him, Sexmachine Trevor Thurling.

There really IS nothin like a dame!

End result: a reinvigorated attack and glorious victory over the Cowboys down in Canberra.

Compare and contrast Boromir from Lord of the Rings Nathan Hindmarsh over at the Eels’ recovery:

No one ever wants to re-enact Grease with me.

… and if they do I never get to be Kenicki.

and the happy-clappy Roosters having superfuntimes rolling around on the grass at Moore Park:

How happy is Shaun Kenny-Dowall?  He just REALLY LOVES ROLLING.  I tried so so hard to stay pissed off at the Roosters after their loss to the Tigers, then I saw this and … I can’t stay mad at you babies.  Especially you Shaun Kenny-Dowall.  I adore him.  I have no idea why, I JUST DO.  

We even have a special Errol nickname for him that I’m only allowed to yell from the sideline and not allowed to say on Errol.  The girls have forbidden me, because … well because it sounds kind of offensive.  But I swear I SAY IT WITH LOVE.

And the point is this: when the miserable pool-going Parra came up against the We!Love!Rolling! Roosters at the SFS, the Roosters took those bitches down.  A happy team is a winning team. It’s just Fact. You can’t argue with science!

So I’m going to save you, oh, about 2 seconds indecision, and tell you not to waste your money on the Sharks this weekend. Bitches are miserable. Just look at them:

Toops looks like he really regrets not being able to stick with the Roosters and roll his cares away. He is so going home to eat an entire cheesecake and pass out in a food coma in his boxers. Ben Pomeroy also probably has several bruises.

The Pom has difficulty walking with flippers. Even though the flippers aren’t on his feet.

And I’m gonna put my money on the Dragons too. For one thing because Jamie ‘Tiny Dancer’ Soward and Baby Chase Stanley look like happy little kids out there on their surfboards. But also because Lozzy might cut me if I don’t.

You see Jamie Soward has worked his mojo on Lozzy. He won her over with his cheeky grin and the little dance he does before he kicks for goal.  You know the one: the chicken dance in a circle, followed by the march, the pause, and the little prance as he kicks.  The one Phil Gould describes as ‘like my cat about to do a shit’. Why do you think we call him Tiny Dancer?

Well it seems Tiny Dancer is rapidly catching up to T Camps as her favourite footy player, and I always have to support the girls’ teams. I’m a good friend like that.

So the boys are playing this match down in our Nation’s capital, Canberra, which means that for the last week foxtel has been bombarding me with ads where Alan Tongue stands in front of the camera in his turtle headgear and announces that the Roosters are in for “… SOME CAPITAL PUNISHMENT”.

As a footy follower, do you know what I love? PUNS ABOUT THE DEATH PENALTY. I love them almost as much as when players are forced to do embarassing promos. Heart.

Note: this is a completely arbitrary pic of Alan Tongue. I could have used a recent one, but I prefer this. I like how it looks like he and Monaghan are waiting anxiously to go into Court on trial for public rangadom. BUT WE CAN’T HELP IT YOUR HONOR!

The Raiders are milling about in the change-room looking cheery and relaxed, except for David Shillington, who mainly just looks skinny. SO SKINNY!  I feel a little bit worried. Do they not have pies in Canberra?

Mmmmmmm pie.

Note to self: send Shillo a care package of four-and-twenties.

The Roosters are standing like unwilling refugees in the away change-room, and J Aubs looks a little like he might vom. On the bright side they have some new super-cute jerseys with little white collars and mini v-necks. I approve. Minichiello has his collar popped, possibly because Terry Biviano jjuzhjed him before they left the house, possibly because he actually really enjoys being referred to as the Count and is just running with the look.

Ees possible!

The boys run on field and something amazing happens: The Roosters don’t suck.  

The forwards are running forward with something that looks like confidence and determination, and somehow even though the Raiders have totally been bogarting the possession of the ball … there are no points on the board.  I believe this is what was missing last week, and I believe it’s called … ‘defence’. Hallelujah!

Pic. Glen McCurtayne

That’s when I remember I actually tipped the Raiders and I feel confused and guilty and kind of like the roosters must know that I was disloyal.  I’M SORRY.

Note to self: find way to make it up to the Roosters. Consider fruit flowers?

Pic. Glen McCurtayne

 
Minichiello grabs the ball and prances through defenders only to be brought down just before the try line. It’s an awkward pile-up of a tackle and Mini comes out of it looking like he’s riding on Space Mountain and holding his leg in a really worrying way.

Even though he’s limping like a half eaten gazelle he shoos away the trainer and stays on the field. Oh, Mini, you so brave. I love you even though you have a body made of glass now and haven’t played a full season for at least two years.  I’m not even being sarcastic, I really do. I just wish you weren’t made of delicate delicate parts like Rod Wishart.

Peg-leg Minichiello moves out on the wing and in the next Roosters set he staggers across the line with his popped collar like a hunchback to score a try.  AMAZING! TRY BY THE ONE-LEGGED MAN!

Mitchell Pearce can’t manage a conversion but he can manage a really random kick out on the full a few minutes later. Luckily, he is now signed to the Roosters until 2012, which means plenty of time to work on that tricky kicking business.

Mitchell needs some more study times on the big book of no-nos.
Pic. Getty Images.

The Raiders kick and Mitchell Aubusson looks over his shoulder then decides the best way to stop Joel Monaghan grabbing it is to leap sideways and use his butt to deflect Monas.  It’s kind of … graceful.  Balletic, even! I like to think M Aubs is a massive fan of So You Think You Can Dance and has been practicing this at home with J Aubs.

Both teams start passing to mid-air and dropping the ball and this feels a lot more like last week. Frank-Paul Nuuasala is on field and gets all ghetto when he’s pushed around in a tackle. Whut, whut? He is thisclose to ripping someone’s weave out.

The Roosters also show what they thought of Shillo’s comments during the week and David Milne is shocked.

OH NO HE DI-INT!

Justin Carney takes out the Mayan King Soliola while he’s in mid-air and Braith Anasta isn’t having any of it. Oooh, biff! Well, at least as close as you can get to biff in 2009, which is grabbing people’s jerseys and pushing then a little bit. Maybe sometimes kicking them in the thigh like Colin Firth and Hugh Grant in Bridget Jones’ Diary. Braith then taps the ref really condescendingly on the shoulder and a little bit of my love dies.

Justin Carney also somehow has Jamie Soward’s hair on as a kind of hair-hat. Halftime, 4-0.

The Raiders botch two great try opportunities and try and reach some kind of record for turnovers. Shaun Kenny-Dowall pops in for a revenge try on the left wing, and Josh Miller and Mark O’Meley collide with a massive smack like two giant towel men made of wet towels. The towel men have a little trip to Disneyland and we replay the collision three times on Foxtel IQ because we are gross and creepy.

At this point I think I can sum up the rest of the game by saying: Braith Anasta loses his damn mind.

It all starts when he dives to tackle David Milne right on the try-line and manages to be dragged sideways so that he runs crotch-first and horizontally into the comically cow-print goalposts. Ten minutes later when he finally manages to struggle to his feet he bends over to check on his boys … maybe gently remind them that this kinda stuff happens in footy.

But Braith Anasta’s crotch is having none of this. Braith Anasta’s crotch is MAD AS HELL AND NOT GONNA TAKE IT ANYMORE.

Pic. Glen McCurtayne

Don’t worry, he doesn’t actually rip T Camp’s head off.

Instead, Braith Anasta’s crotch sends in Mitchell Pearce for a try. Then Braith Anasta’s crotch leaps over Justin Carney in the in-goal and miraculously grounds a ball right on the dead ball line for another try.

Just to rub it in Canberra’s face, Braith Anasta’s crotch finishes his decimation of the Raiders by intercepting a pass and running 40 metres to score a single-crotch try. Fitzy converts for 28-0.

At this point, Bronson Harrison manages a sneaky last-minute Green Machine try, but Braith Anasta’s crotch doesn’t give a shit. Braith Anasta’s crotch then gives the whole of Canberra the forks … game over, bitches. 28-4.

I know how you love Kiki’s health updates, so today you get one from me.  EXCITEMENT.  A mental health one at least.  In the lead up to this game I had a dull feeling of resignation that this was the last stop on the line for my chookies, and I was starting to freak out, because – since I have no mid-term memory cells left – I literally couldn’t remember what I filled my spare time with when it wasn’t football season.  Anyone?

I do love me some cricket, but more in a falling asleep on the couch in the afternoon in my swimmers with a beer way than a rabid fan way.  HOW WILL I FILL ALL MY TIME WHEN THE GAME IS OVER?  I was starting to even consider taking up a hobby, fo realz.  This was especially bad because I’m not even really sure what my hobby-choices are.  The only ones I know of are Mah Jong and bushwalking and cross-stitch.

Luckily, you can all stop worrying, babies.  As I lay on the beach on Saturday I looked up and remembered THIS IS WHAT I DO.  BEACH.  Sweet sweet beach.  Incidentally, Kiki and I also looked up a little bit later and saw Big Dell frolicking on the sand with his bbs wearing fluorescent boardshorts, but that’s a whole other post.

The moral of the story is that I don’t have to take up crochet (thank god, because it probably would have ended in a drunken needle injury) and we can get down to the recap.  Also, that I am sunburnt.

If you don’t want to read all the words that are on the way, just look at this picture instead:

pic: Getty Images

So the New Zealand Warriors run onto the field to some AC/DC Back in Black action.  Clearly I am not opposed to AC/DC, or to cock rock in general.  It makes my heart smile when the Roosters run on to Motley Crue.  But Warriors, darlings, I think you need an update.  The Storm run onto AC/DC.  And I can’t have the Warriors (who I kinda love now) running onto the same band as my footy nemeses The Storm.  My little pea-brain couldn’t handle it.

And how has no one suggested Patti Smith ‘I am the Warrior‘?  Not just because it’s a fuck-off great song, but because Patti Smith is a fierce bitch.  Do you know who else is a fierce bitch?  Wiki.  IT ALL FITS.  Listen to these lyrics and tell me it’s not perfect.

Who’s the hunter … who’s the game?

I feel the beat … call your name

I hold you close … in victory

I don’t wanna tame your animal style …

You won’t be caged … in the call of the wild

Clearly I am just going to play this in my own home before the Warriors play next week and start calling Ruben Wiki ‘jungle child’.

pic: Kenny Rodger

The Kiwis haven’t skimped on the dramz tonight.  The Warriors are in their all blacks and the Roosters have turned up in their pretty all-white uniforms to a stadium of screaming black-clad Kiwi fans.  It’s all very dramatical and allegorical and other words ending in ‘-ical’.

It’s like Daniel in the lion’s den.  Except that maybe in the bible they didn’t have fireworks or Maori drummers or traditional dancers in coconut bras.  Whatever.  I like to think they did.  You just know Mary Magdalene was a bandit for a coconut bra and grass skirt.

It is approximately one second before the Warriors send in Lance Hohaia for a try and Michael Witt’s ginger mo steps up to the tee and converts.  6-0.  Oh, Roosters.

About two seconds later the referee needs a new whistle.  I shit you not.

The Roosters make a beautiful break until Amos Roberts loses the ball and has his head broken.  Tragedy!  I love Amos!  Although I was really disappointed when I found out he calls his newborn baby son ‘Mossy’ as in ‘Amos’ not as in ‘Named after Ian ‘Mossy’ Moss of Cold Chisel’.

Mitchell Pearce magics a 40-20 kick and takes a pass from Braith Anasta to dive into goal.  TRY!  GO BABIES GO!   Except … why is nobody hugging Mitchell Pearce?  David Shillington is hugging Mitchell Aubusson.  Everyone else is hugging each other.  Mitchell Pearce just wanders around a bit until finally Lunchlady Doris – I mean a Roosters trainer – brings him a Powerade and claps him on the back.

He is seriously a man-island.  And not the good party-island kind.  Is he in the bad books for stealing someone’s lucky socks?  Did he dob on the guys for something?  Fart in the plane on the way down?  Does he play Nickelback in the team bus?

Poor Mitchell Man-Island Pearce.

Frill-neck Fitzgibbon converts.

pic: Getty Images

I accidentally mush my nail polish all over my hand when Minichiello explodes from nowhere to come face to face with a Soliola kick, kicks again, chases and dives into goal neck-and-neck with Hohaia for a SO-CLOSE-BUT-SO-FAR-NO-TRY.  Yes, I do paint my nails while I watch the footy.  I like to multitask.

Except apparently the Universe enjoys toying with my emotions. Because, inexplicably, Tony Archer sends it to the video referee and a penalty try is awarded.  Penalty try?  First penalty try of the year?

Are you kidding me faceless video ref?

Let me explain.  I am incredibly biased towards my team.  Everything they do is fine by me. Teams that beat them do not deserve to live.  Brad ‘Freddy’ Fittler’s chuckle is music to my ears.

But this is completely ridiculous.  I do not approve of the penalty try rule.

Benefit of the doubt makes sense to me – where something is so very very close and video footage is inconclusive we’ll give the attacking team a little leeway. It makes the fans happy, it makes the game exciting.

But penalty try is a contradiction in terms.  It says if there is no try, because of a penalty – then instead of giving you a penalty we will give you a penalty try. BUT THERE WAS NO TRY. If there was no try, there is no way that anyone can say whether there would have been, but for the penalty.

Sure you can say there would probably have been a try, but how likely does it have to be?  More than 50%? More than 75%? Highly probable? Slightly probable?  Can you tell yet that I studied law?

Would you be happy to see your team lose a grand final with a penalty try?

I think it says it all that it was a penalty try that gave the Storm their first premiership.  That Rule and That Club are united in propagating the forces of darkness.

It is a flimsy and ill-defined rule and I resent it’s usage.  I say send the offender off for ten or something and let the situation sort itself out.  And yes, it is possible I am just saying that because I like seeing people get sent off.  I like watching the little sooky cartoon bull huff across the screen.  WANNA MAKE SOMETHING OF IT?

Anyway, the Roosters are awarded a try and Komodo Fitzgibbon converts so feel free to ignore that whole series of ranty paragraphs.  HURRAH FOR PENALTY TRIES! I LOVE YOU PENNY!

Anasta field-goals and we all go for a half-time cup of tea and lie-down.

Shall we discuss facial hair again while the boys are napping?  I say yes. It’s not an Errol post without a mention of arses or beards.

My fiercest beard award tonight goes to Simon Mannering.  He actually won player of the year in the Warriors club this year, but I’m sure this award means so much more.  That is a cracker of a beard:

I assume you’re thinking one of two things right now: either ‘WHY ARE YOU ILLUSTRATING THIS GAME WITH PICTURES OF MEN IN A POOL?’ or ‘WHEEE! I ACTUALLY ONLY COME TO ERROL FOR THE GRATUITOUS SEMI-NUDITY!’

Sadly, both these responses are wrong. The right one is HEEE! Is there anything funnier than the Warriors wearing swimming goggles? I say no.

And just for the hell of it:

Steve Price, why you so tanned? I sense some solarium action, because god knows he can’t have been natural tanning in New Zealand.  That makes me love you a little bit Pricey.

The boys all run back out and the Roosters defence is a big ole pile of Marshmallow as Hohaia rolls in a try.  Mmmmmm … marshmallow.  Witty’s mo converts again.

In more plasma news, someone in the distance who may be Lopini Paea (I’m a little bit drunk so I can’t be sure) has a huge circle of blood on the bottom of his jersey and the front of his shorts.  He is sent off field to change his jersey, and – I assume – so that one of the Roosters trainers can sit him down in the locker room and give him the talk about What Happens When You Become a Woman.  If they’re really touchy-feely they might even give him a glass of red wine with his box of tampons.

The Warrior whose name I always forget who looks like a B-grade 90s movie actor* is held up in goal for no try. Let’s just call him Jeremy Sisto. Bad luck, Jezza.

Angryman Ian (not Brian) Henderson gets a Benny try. Oh, Roosters, I knew this would happen: 18-13. Another try to Manu Vatuvei’s gold teeth. I wanna feel sad but that bitch is just too fabulous. I want to see Manu and Dell have a weigh-in to determine biggest winger in league.

Knock on, double knock on, and a SECOND TRY FOR JEREMY SISTO. Way to excel in your day job, mister. The Roosters do dumb things and dig their own grave for 30-13. The crowd goes wild. Even I feel happy. IT’S JUST SO MAGICAL.

Lopini Paea is – seriously people, this is not me exaggerating – sitting on the sidelines with two tampons in his nostrils. Have you been watching She’s the Man? THAT’S NOT WHAT YOU DO WITH THEM LOPINI.

Perhaps most incredibly of all, Ivan Cleary smiles.

pic: Kenny Rodger

I comfort myself that at least this will feed the Roosters underdog complex for 2009. Next year, my darlings, next year.

Meanwhile I have saved this for last because this shit deserves to be the finale.  In the second half of the game, and in what must be the greatest hit I have seen this year, Ruben Wiki takes the ball, bares his teeth, ROARS and charges head on at the man-mountain that is Sia Soliola.

Kiki and I scream and wave our legs like we are riding imaginary bicycles because we are losers.  Then we mime punches for no apparent reason.  We discuss what is the furthest possible Disneyland from Auckland and decide on Paris.

Soliola reaches Euro-Disney before he even hits the ground, and like the complete and utter gentleman he is, Ruben comes back to help him up and check that he can still focus his eyes.  Goddamnit Ruben.  Could you be any more amazing?  No, no you couldn’t.  Especially not since that fierce bitch also turned to the camera and screamed WOOOOO when his side locked up the game.  I want to hug him like woah.

pic: Getty Images

So it’s safe to say I’ve buried all my hopes for 08 and jumped straight on the bearded Warriors bandwagon. If Ruben doesn’t get a premiership this year, there is no justice.

pic: Brett Phibbs

COME ON NEW ZULLAND!  As Ruben Wiki’s wrist bandages say: Carpe diem, bitches.**

* Aidan Kirk

** Disclaimer: it might not actually say bitches.

pic: Colleen Petch via news.com.au

Oh yeah, that’s the stuff.

So you might not know this, but we Errol girls are tres spiritual.  Over in the corner at Errol HQ, just between the hanging egg chair and the booze cabinet, we have a little footy shrine.  It has fairy lights and everything.

On Friday afternoons we light a few tea light candles, leave a cold schooner as an offering to the Gods of Footy, and ask the universe for a weekend of exciting games, for wins for our beloved babies, and, just sometimes, for some teams to lose.

After that we like to finish off our Friday dacquiris, send the boys home, crank up the T.Rex and more often than not end up dancing to Britney on a podium at Stonewall at about 5am. True story.

But that’s neither here nor there.

What’s really important is that THIS WEEK IT HAPPENED. We prayed for an underdog victory by the Warriors and it came true.

They (including me in my Nova footy tips) said that the eighth-placed team would never beat the minor premiers. But clearly they didn’t factor in that Errol is totes hooked up with the universe.  On Sunday night, the Warriors defeated the Storm and bitches, it was magical.

HALLELUJAH!

Let’s relive the good times (in point form because I am too tired for play-by-play).

IAN HENDERSON WILL CUT A BITCH

MATTY GEYER STARTED IT! HE CALLED ME NAMES!
pic: George Salpigtidis

Is Lozzy right? Is it the beards? Are they full of dark and delicious evil and starting to possess the owners?  (Which just by the way would be totally awesome). Because the Warriors were pissed on Sunday night. And none more pissed than fiesty little Ian ’stop calling me Brian’ Henderson.

On Friday night when Braith Anasta and Justin Hodges squared up at the Footy Stadium I thought fo sho at least one of those bitches was gon get her weave ripped out.

When Henderson squared up against seemingly every single member of the Storm, I thought someone was gonna lose a whole row of teeth. His fists of fury were just waiting for an excuse to punch someone.

And I won’t lie, I kind of loved it.

Not just because I have a not-so-secret aggressive streak (I blame my high school water polo career), but because it makes me think everybody hates the Storm.  Even Steve Price was feelin angry.  Steve Price!  Amazing. Next thing I’ll find out Craig Fitzgibbon doesn’t like Brent Tate or something and my life will officially be complete.

Hendo, I salute your rage.

MICHAEL WITT IS A TOOL

I admitted a little while ago that I felt a little bit of Witty-love creeping up on me.  It seemed like out of nowhere the Warriors were a festival of facial hair and Mr. Witt was the proud new owner of a gleaming ginger mo.  I suspect that a lesser man would have reacted to the shame of a surprise ginge tinge with either their razor or a box of Just for Men for Beards (it really exists, I swear), but Witty has soldiered on with the tangerine lip.

He’s sacrificed vanity for team spirit and hilarity.  And as someone who has gone to dress-up parties as a half-dead abduction victim complete with fake blood clearly I care not for vanity. (It was a Twin Peaks party, if you’re wondering. I don’t just enjoy imitating victims of crime).

pic: Photo Sports

Well bitch has completely won me over now. As final try-scorer thanks to a barnstorming run from the fucking fierce Manu Vatuvei, he didn’t just put the ball down.  He held it over his head and taunted the storm chasers.  HE TAUNTED THE BEAST!  Bitch is pretty much the Will Smith of Rugby League right now. He flew right into that death star. Wait, that was Independence Day. WHATEVER. In my mind he also spat out a pithy one-liner when Cameron Smith couldn’t reach him in time and crumpled to the ground next to him.

Best of all, he got in trouble with the coach and big brother Pricey for the taunting and said this:

“I actually thought that there was only one dude chasing me and I thought when I stepped him right at the end I could just stand in the in-goal and waste time standing there before I put the ball down. But someone else was right there so I ended up looking like a bit of a tool and a big-noter.”

OOPS. SOZ IVAN CLEARY AND STEVE PRICE! DIDN’T MEAN TO ACT LIKE A TOOL.

I say it was worth looking like a tool Witty to see the Storm look bitter and disappointed. Oh yeah, this is what they call Rugby League, boys.  Welcome to my world.

That’s actually why you won’t be getting a Broncos-Roosters post this week, by the way, kittens.  IT’S JUST TOO PAINFUL.  The second-half collapse ripped my heart out. The only thing that comforts me is thinking that maybe, just maybe, the loss to the Broncos was a scheme of diabolical genius from Brad ‘Freddy’ Fittler. That loss is what put the Roosters on the opposite side of the draw from Melbourne. GASP!

pic: Getty Images

I know, I know, so maybe he doesn’t really strike you at first glance as an evil genius, but you know he’s hiding something behind that chuckle. No one looks that content and relaxed all the time unless secretly they are pulling the puppet strings on everything around them.

Or if they do, they probably wouldn’t be able to, you know, dress themselves or open doors.

HE IS A MACHIAVELLIAN GENIUS, OK? Don’t crush my delusions. Just trust me on this one.

NO NO NO NO NO

First of all, thanks for lending me your commentary catchphrase as my heading, Phil Gould.

As for you, vanquished captain Cameron Smith: this could have been a perfect opportunity to win me over. Which, obviously, is at the top of your list of TOP TEN VERY IMPORTANT THINGS TO DO: 1. MAKE SASSY LOVE ME.

As I was cackling with delight at the Warriors miracle win, there was a moment where Cam Smith could have said WELL DONE WARRIORS and a smidgen of empathy might have led me to start being justalittlebit fond of you.  But no. Instead I got:

“No disrespect to the Warriors, but we lost the game yesterday, I don’t think they beat us. That’s not being arrogant. If we didn’t give away so many penalties, we would have won the game.”

Are you trying to make me dislike you now?  Because I really like Hazy and co.  And I have been trying to like the Storm, for our loyal readers’ sake if nothing else. AND YOU KEEP COCKING IT UP.  Work with me, Cameron darling. Work with me.

Compliment the team who beat you.  Just a little!  It won’t hurt.  It can even be grudging, if you like.  Or if you can’t bring yourself to tell them they played well, at least tell them you like their bushranger beards.  Something.  Anything.  Sigh.

(I’ll give you a hint, calling them whingers doesn’t count.)

“It worked for them, didn’t it?” Smith said. “It’s certainly something that we don’t do. The referee’s out there to do a job. We don’t ever go out there to try and ask him to give us penalties or anything like that. He’s the one with the whistle and he’s got to make up his own mind but it’s a tactic that worked for them, so good on them.

“They should be refereeing the game by how they see it, not what they’re hearing from opposition players.”

“I think you’d be pretty hard up to try and find some footage of any of our players whingeing about what other teams do to us,” he said. “That’s just the way we’re coached, just to get on playing footy.”

STOP YOUR WHINGING PRICEY!

All I can say to that is NO NO NO NO NO (TM Phil Gould).

Finally, in other news I should also say that the race for best hair in league is getting closer and closer. You could throw a blanket over the field! Mmmm blankie. I had thought Dave Williams had it in the bag, but Ruben Wiki was looking extra Soul Glo-y on Sunday night.  Plus obviously he is just completely adorable. GOD OUR WORK IS JUST SO DIFFICULT SOMETIMES.

Back to the Errol drawing board I guess.  Actually can someone replace the drawing board paper?

No, not you Lachie … John John’s been sketching again. I’ll tell you what he sketched when you get older.

Someone else?  I need a fresh bit of paper on it so I can cover it with STORM SUX comics and MRS WITT written 95 times in calligraphy. Thanks, Intern Brownie.