Monday Night recap: Roosters vs Tigers

Monday night football! Oh, I’m so glad it’s back on tv now. This Monday my brave Roosters are taking on the … well, the not very lovable Tigers. I can’t think of any specific reason to dislike them, but somehow they are just a whole lot less likable now Scotty Prince has left (love you Scotty!) Clearly it was the Prince-Marshall lovematch that made them appealing.

This whole situation is not helped by all the close ups of Keith Galloway in the Tigers locker room. It’s so intense seeing a ranga in that Fanta skin-tight jersey. I don’t even know what I think anymore.

Over in the Roosters den of brilliance Braith Anasta’s hair is especially porcupiney and I like to think that means he’s feeling extra fiesty.

Big Willie Mason and David Shillington are snuggling on each other’s shoulders, and to be completely honest, it kind of makes me a little happy in my pants. There. I admit it. I am so ashamed.

Brandy Alexander and Beige Warren Smith remind me for about the EIGHTY-FIFTH TIME that Shillo will be leaving the chooks next year to go to Canberra and if they mention it again I swear I’m gonna cut a bitch. I’m heartbroken enough already.

Let me take a moment to explain: I love Shillo. Mainly this is because he is tres lovable.

Love that he always, always has his pants fall off his arse at at least one point during every game.
Love that when they introduce all the players at the Sydney Football Stadium with inspirational descriptions like ‘lean mean try-scoring machine, Shaun Kenny-Doowwwwwwell!’, his title is just: ‘Big David Shillington’. Heart.
Love that last Australia Day he got utterly blind and emerged from the pub bathroom to do a solo on the dancefloor dressed only in underpants, shoes, and an Australian flag. *
Love that he has such a little speaking voice.
Love most of all that he was the cake-decorating champion on the Footy Show.

Sigh. I shall miss you Big David. I suspect you’ll miss me too.

And of all the teams to sign him, the librarians of the NRL, Canberra. Boy can’t go pantsless down there in the cold. And is this signing even allowed? I thought they had an all-ranga policy now? It certainly looks like it. TAKE GALLOWAY INSTEAD!

Now I’m all upset. Anyway it’s a total bitch of a night, cold and rainy and kinda foggy, and I am ever so glad I’m home in my jammies instead of five minutes down the road contracting pneumonia (I love my boys but not that much). Oh, that reminds me, we may well miss some action about ten minutes in because I stupidly put a facial on, and you know you have to wash those motherfuckers off right on time or they completely solidify, immobilise your face and are a mission to wash off.

Outside in the chook pen we get a shot of a giant sign that just says:

WE’LL BEAT YOU WITH OUR COCKS

Chris Ferguson is that you!?

The Tiges hit the field with Brett Hodgson looking a worrying shade of grey as always. How can a professional sportsman look so beat down by life? He looks like he’s being granted his last wish: to play at the SFS with his idols. Thanks Starlight Foundation!

Thankfully a burst of smoke from the fancypants firework shooty things settles over the field so I can’t really see Nate Myles run on (DIRTY QUEENSLANDER!), but I do Big Willie’s beard. It’s looking extra groomed and boybandy tonight … there goes my ladyboner.

And we’re off! I totally miss the first set because that damn smoke is everywhere. It’s like they’re playing in soup. Let’s just assume nothing that exciting happens though.

Once the smoke clears it’s even harder to recap. Big Willie knocks on. Someone throws a dud pass. Anasta kicks a ball completely horizontally from the inside of his boot. Spectators cower in fear.

The Roosters are amazingly strong running from dummy half, and the Tigers are amazingly swift and wily in defence against fifth tackle kicks. DAMN YOU TIM SHEENS AND YOUR EFFECTIVE COACHING. Almost try! No try. Almost try! No try. We haven’t left the Tigers’ end in about twenty minutes but the Roosters just get rejected from the try line again and again and it’s all so very frustrating. I realise this must be how soccer fans feel all the time. No wonder the angry poms riot.

Great run from Amos Roberts for the Roosters, knock on to Perrett. I feel so rioty! I feel better when the camera cuts to Hodgson looking sadder and more decrepit than ever with lank little locks of hair flattened to his head by the rain. Crafty Lawrence scuppers another Roosters run at the try line.

FINALLY, praise christ, the Tigers make it into the Roosters’ end of the field. Why am I happy about this? I don’t know what I think anymore.

The rain gods ruin a great run from the Tigers on the left hand side – just as I’m yelling TACKLE YOU LAZY BASTARDS, Lawrence passes to no one. Hurrah! We get a fab centre-screen reminder that Willie Mason wears black Nancy Ganz under his shorts.

As I am on the verge of setting a foreigner on fire, little Mitchell Pearce shoots a brilliant pass to the right for Amos Roberts for a try, and battleaxe Craig Fitzgibbon converts. Go the baldies!

Five minutes later a brilliant pass from a mid-tackle, rapidly falling Anthony Tupou to little Mitch Aubusson a metre from the try line. And when he sees Starlight Hodgson coming in from the side, my clever little Aubbo darts between the goal posts to score and Starlight runs headfirst into the pole. DOESN’T HE HAVE ENOUGH TROUBLES ALREADY?

(Actually, that’s a lie. I don’t feel sorry for him at all. I actually laugh. I’m a bad person with a cold black heart).

Man o War Fitzgibbon converts but another five minutes in we have dramaz ahoy when the video ref takes a good four hours to review a maybe-try to Pearce. Is it a knock-on if it goes sideways? Is it? Really? No try. Bah.

After a brief halftime interlude, we come back to plenty more dramz: almost tigers try, dramaz in the midfield, dramaz on the sideline. Dramaz when Anasta bounces a pass right off Seitimata Sa’s head by accident and it goes dead. Keep it up, boys!

Robbie Farah takes a break from his hectic schedule of riding up and down Norton Street in his best mate’s car to score a try. A thousand Tigers fans celebrate. Boo hissss.

Little Mitch Aubbo makes a BEAUTIFUL break from an early Benji ‘dead to me’ Marshall kick and sets off downfield. He slaps off Bronson Harrison with his slappy little left hand (is that his name? Bronson? Did I make that up? Whatever), and kicks off Matthew Head from his leg like a humping dog.

Run Mitchy, run!

TRY! I do a little dance in my elk-print pyjamas. Mitch grins. Hugging abounds, and Mitchells Pearce and Aubusson take it straight into the realm of man-on-man love when Pearce snuggles Aubbo’s neck solidly for fifteen seconds. (I counted).

Oh hay, in other news, my ladyboner is back.

Armadillo Fitzgibbon converts.

In the next few minutes the Tigers are reprehensibly robbed of what is clearly a try by the video referee … for, I don’t even know what. IT WAS A TRY, DAMMIT. Tuiaki makes up for it with a heartwarming 70 metre run and sets up a Tigers try. Justice is done! Oh wait, except that then the world really begins to monsoon and Pearce knocks over a field goal.

19-10 Roosters win, fulltime.

Better luck next time, kids. Bring Scotty Prince with you when you come back.

Kind regards,
Sassy

* For photos of this event, please contact Kiki directly.