footy observations of the week: a samoan in paris

I guess we have to say it – Sonny Bill. Sonny Bill has left on a jetplane for France to play rugby. I’ll warn you now, the only good part of this story is that a customs official spotted him leaving and phoned up Ray Hadley on 2GB to pass on the news. I love Australia!

Oh, Sonny Bill. Now his svengali manager Khoder Nassar and professional troublemaker Anthony Mundine want us to think about your feelings.

STOP BEING SO SELFISH GUYS! WHAT ABOUT SONNY?

Well I’ll say it. I’m done with Sonny Bill’s Feelings. And I pity the stewardesses who had to sweep up his mountains of damp tissues on his flight to Paris. He’s the weepy kid in class who cries if he drops his sandwich. He’s the spoiled cousin who steals your Mariah Carey Christmas CD because he didn’t get one and really really wants it. Muuuuum! I bet he even had a tanty when he got off the plane in Singapore and realised he left his Ectivity Peck in the seat pocket.

He will never be happy. At least never while he’s not taking his lithium. Bitch is dead to me.

Also, I lied when I said there was only one good thing about this story. The other one is that Sonny Bill Feelings thought he could creep out of the country unnoticed. Of course! Six foot tall Samoans visit Paris are SO HARD TO SPOT in a city like Paris on a continent with little to no Polynesian migration. Maybe he even wore sunglasses to throw them off his trail. GENIUS! Way to blend in Sonny baby.

[Note - I like to think Sonny went all Get Smart on our asses and wore a fake moustache, fedora and beige trenchcoat to the airport in a desperate attempt to escape unnoticed. I bet Choc Mundine packed all the spy essentials in SBW's Dora the Explorer backpack. - Kiki]

Khoder … is that you? Herro? This shoe phone is hard to use.

You know SBW landed in Singapore and thought he was already in France. He’s probably wondering why all the French are so short and Asian looking. And why are they eating noodles, where are the croissants? AND THE BERETS? I WAS PROMISED BERETS.

Bon-jour? Guys, bon-jour?

All this drama tires me, but at least I had Roosters vs Manly on Sunday afternoon to soothe the soul. Is there anything cuter than family day? I say no. All those little kiddies snuggled in their ponchos staring eagerly at the football, and rushing onto the field to mob Willie Mason. They all love Willie Mason. Who can explain why? I swear my ovaries twinged … just a little bit. Mainly thanks to the six year old boy behind me who announced in the first half:

Manly suck. They are wasting my time.

People don’t say it enough, but this is how football is meant to be. It’s not meant to be a sad mob of the faithful struggling to get to ANZ Stadium to buy $7 beers in the middle of a concrete wind tunnel. It’s meant to be the bottom levels of the footy stadium packed with people, kids in their own Roosters jerseys with their name sewn on the back, dads cuddling their daughters in matching maroon, and little ones getting to meet their idols.

It even warmed my cold black heart. I was so impressed I even managed not to yell out anything pornographic about the Hot Pioneer David Williams or the fact that men playing football in the rain may well be one of the hottest things god ever created. You know, because I didn’t want to corrupt the children. It took a lot of willpower let me tell you. I hope all those parents appreciated it, dammit.

SEE WHAT I WAS DEALING WITH? I’m pretty much Ghandi right now in terms of self-restraint. Also, who would have guessed Matt Ballin and Riley Brown were such snugglers?

While we’re talking about David Williams, can someone from Manly tell me what is this?

Are you doing in-house catalogues for Manly merchandise? Or do you just pay the hot pioneer a really povo salary so he has to resort to posing in Rivers catalogues so he can afford his rent? Will he be selling men’s sweaters and lightweight moccasins (perfect for sailing!) next? I don’t understand. Don’t get me wrong, I kinda love it. But no, I don’t understand. You can totally tell they were using a wind machine.

We’re also prouder than ever of fiesty little intern Brownie. Brian Waldron from the Storm has threatened legal action but Oh Errol is having none of that. Yesterday after the game we took Brownie to Ruby’s for a latte and told him stand strong, baby. The Storm might threaten a defamation suit, but truth is a defence to defamation (thanks, law degree!). More importantly if anyone tries to take you to court we’ll cut them good. I also have a mean right hook (thanks boxing trainer Sandra!).

And Brownie stood strong. OH YEAH, FIGHT THE MAN!

I’m being serious though that I can’t take much more of this. With Gaz leaving, Brownie going postal, and Sonny Bull stealthily leaving the country we’re at our limit for dramz. Calm it down for a little while, will you kids? We’re getting old. Also, we’re rapidly running out of gin.