r-l-w-c: all fun and games till someone gets poked in the eye

Oh, kittens.  The Errol office is so sad at the moment.  It’s semi-finals time in the World Cup, which means that all the teams we met and fell in love with on the footy field are gradually packing up their bags of boomerang souvenirs and VB accessories and heading home.  

Papua New Guinea have been booted after coming fourth in the pool of death. Tonga and Samoa have taken their wardances and gone home. The Frenchies are returning to (a probably frosty reception in) France. Perhaps they can use their wooden spoon to make a nice souffle to cheer themselves up?  I hope so.

And Kiki is busy drying her tears at the moment, but once she manages to stop crying into the keyboard, she’ll also fill you kids in on the Errol trip to the Gold Coast to watch the Irish Wolfhounds play Fiji in the quarter finals, and saying goodbye to our adopted Irish team.  WE MISS YOU ALREADY BABIES.

Sif all that wasn’t bad enough, we also lost Errol favourite Corporal Campese from the Aussie team.

I feel so uncool.
Pic: Ian Hitchcock

In a tres dramatical incident, T Camp was poked in the eye by Neville Costigan in the Australia-PNG match, and had to bow out of the rest of the World Cup.  Poor baby could have gone blind.  I’m not even kidding.  A footy career ended by a poke in the eye.  YOU CAN’T MAKE THIS STUFF UP.  

So now it’s all come down to Australia (sans Terry), New Zealand, England … and Fiji.

It feels a bit like the end of holiday camp. All our friends’ parents have come and picked them up already, except because our mum is running late we’re left sitting on the steps with the kids we weren’t even friends with anyway.  Making awkward conversation about if we’re coming back next year, remembering how someone said they wet the bed and we kind of believe that they do.  Avoiding eye contact, exchanging email addresses even though we’re totally never gonna write to each other. 

Sigh.

I’ve think we all know by now I have a problem cheering for the Australian team. Not even seeing Toops and Fitzy on the bench can change that. And now that Baby Hayne has announced that playing for Fiji has changed his life and chased away his demons I am 100% team Fiji.  What’s not to love about a team that can make the semi-finals and provide informal therapy?

Are you there, God? It’s me, Baby Hayne.
Pic: Phil Hillyard

Remember how I called the World Cup a soap opera? Aside from a good demon possession, there was only one thing the cup was missing: a redemption arc, and someone finding God.  DING-DING-DING JACKPOT!  Thanks to Baby Hayne this is now officially the Most Dramatic World Cup Ever. I love it. GO BABY HAYNE, GO!

And really, how can you not love Fiji? This is the team that sings in harmony on the football field. Those bitches are talented.

They also freely admit to being unfit. ME TOO! Athletic ability is totally overrated.

Darren Lockyer says their biggest danger is that they play ad-lib in attack.  ME TOO!  Well, ok, not in ‘attack’ as such.  And not in any sports of any kind.  But I still think planning is totally overrated in general.  I care not for preparation and gameplans.

While we’re talking Locky, he also doesn’t seem to remember who’s in the Fijian team.  This worries me.  Are you feeling ok Darren, baby?  Just the other day you couldn’t remember who was in the English team either.  Has he taken more knocks to the head than I realised?

Pic: Peter Rae

If I’m not mistaken, Daz also turned up to the Fiji-Australia photocall without his shorts.  At least that’s what the Herald says.  Just look at the ones he had to borrow.  Are they … clown shorts? Oh my god, are they CULOTTES?  Green and gold culottes?  Maybe they had them made when they were making Steve Price’s custom green and gold bucket hats.

I am becoming a bit concerned actually that Darren may be losing his damn mind.  If someone doesn’t get him some Omega 3 and write the boy a list of who he plays for and what to bring to the game I honestly think he we might see him run out to play Fiji completely pantsless, play the ball backwards, then accidentally tackle Billy Slater. 

And if you think I’m a little harsh on Australia, I apologise.  I know Greg Inglis is all put out that the Kangaroos don’t get enough love. 

I think we thoroughly deserve the praise that we should be getting but we’re not.

Firstly, that sentence is intense. Is he using the subjunctive? I think he may have created some new kind of grammatical structure.

But also, I’m sorry, Gregory. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, even though you chose to become a dirty Queenslander. You’re right. It is a little bit unfair. And it is a little bit to do with the team being so good.

The Kangaroos are the Roger Federer of rugby league. Too professional, too efficient, too … Swiss. Footy is all about emotion, and the Aussies just don’t give me any at the moment.

But now that I’ve said that … suck it up Inglis. SUCK IT UP. You’re about to (probably) win a World Cup.   You’ve won a premiership and an Origin series. People have called you the best player in Australia.  Um, what more do you want, mate?  So a few people think the team’s boring. At least you didn’t get POKED IN THE EYE.

There is far too much whinging going on and I don’t loike it. Inglis thinks no one loves him (in at least four tenses). England hate the refs. Ade Gardner hates the grapple (don’t we all?)  Benji Marshall is all offended that the English turned their back on the Haka.

Can’t we all just take a leaf out of Flossy Nightingale and Sam Perrett’s dayplanner and have a nice waterslide?