Folks,
An instructive weekend of sport. To better understand the Goings On, we shall break down the various protagonists into those who are Tops, those who Suck, and those who are Total Arseclowns.
(I'd call them Total C--ts but some of you are reading this at work.)
THESE PEOPLE ARE TOPS
Otago's cheerful rabble of a NPC team - gave the pride of the four home rugby nations a Bloody Good Scare and woulda coulda almost mighta won the whole thing if the bastards hadn't 'cheated like buggery' (a direct post-game quote from the Otago captain). Also managed to shut the Barmy Army up for long stretches, which from my seat in the stands was TOPS.
Joey Johns. Goddamn. At the very least, this should Noddy-proof the Origin halfback spot for a good few years.
US Open champ, the man they call Cambo (over here, anyway.) Get that up you Tigger. Can we call him the Darker-than-Dark Shark now?
The Footballroos (is that what we're supposed to call them now?) for belting a metric shitload of goals past a couple of world cup winning footballing nations in the Boche and the Argies, and proving that we're good enough to play at the top level, if only we could work out a way to avoid shipping four goals a game ourselves.
The Bangladesh cricket team. Ye Gods. Old Richie Benaud should probably have left the dusty old Olivetti typewriter on the shelf when he decided to slag them off in the press and declare them a blight on international cricket. What better way to get their revenge than to make Richie's beloved home side look like a bunch of faulty dildos at a lesbian convention? Super effort that. Absolutely maaarvellous.
Oh, alright, them Saints. You have to be bloody good to beat Souths on our current form, dammit.
THESE PEOPLE SUCK
The Michelin men. Ten laps is a lot shorter than 73 laps, yet they made a left-rear F1 tyre that met exactly those specifications. Vive la merde.
The Australian First XI, collectively and individually, but in particular: Richard Poontang, for ranting and raving at everyone else re commitment and focus, and then falling over first ball (literally) to an innocuous not-really-swinging-yorker expelled limply by the White Gladstone Small. Damien Martyn, for astonishingly poor shot selection. Roy Symonds, not for being too drunk to play, but for being un-Australian to lack skills enough to get away with it. Shane Watson, for being Shane Watson, i.e. as much use as a busted arsehole. John Buchanan, for being a gormless accountant often confused with a respectable coach of cricket. In conclusion, Jesus Christ, who loses to England for God's sake. Canary yellow indeed.
The British and Irish (and going progressively more irish as the tour proceeds) Lionesses, for not only cancelling all their charitable appearances in Otago the day they arrived (the entire point of a tour is to get out of the hotel and meet people isn't it?) but for scamming a win over Otago which they didn't deserve. If that's their test side for Saturday against the ABs, they deserve to get beated like a red-headed stepchild (or a Michelin tyre engineer out the back of the F1 pits.)
Kevin Pietersen and Andrew Strauss. Haven't you Bokke bastards got a country to go home to?
THESE PEOPLE ARE TOTAL ARSECLOWNS
Ferrari, the FIA and the myopically cretinous overlords of F1 who refused to put a temporary chicane in the flat-out banked turn at Indy and thus allow the Michelin-shod teams to safely run their cars in the USGP this morning, even when they offered to start from the back of the grid, without scoring any points, just so F1 wouldn't make total arses of themselves in the biggest sports and sales market in the world. Nope. Too hard. Screw 'em. Thus ends F1's great US adventure, and deservedly so.
Manly, just because.
Sir Clive Woodward, ditto. Memo to you and the midgetory drop-goal merchant: This one's for the world cup final you obnoxious slaphead. Go you Anzacs. (Well, they would be if Steve Devine played.
No, I don't have a lot of spare time on my hands with the new job, why do you ask?
Catch you later - cheers.
