Well folks it was another week when the forces of good
defeated the forces of evil. Australia defeated the
apparently-not-shit English cricketers. The Wallabies saw
off the tryless and plotless Boks. The ABs concluded their
complimentary three-phase rugby tutorial session with the
Lions. The mighty NSW Blues flogged the XXXXed Qld Maroons
(apologies to the banana-bending banjo soloists in the
audience). Everyone called Schumacher didn't win. And Souths
beat someone. Anyone. Huzzah! (OK so that little Kentucky
fried shit Nicky Hayden beat my brother Vale Rossi in the
MotoGP, but that's my problem not yours.)
NEWSFLASH
Phil Gould has cemented his place in sports analyst history
by working out that the reason NSW beat Qld (and the Eelses
subsequently beat the Dragqueens) was that they had larger
people on their team. Apparently rugby league players are
better if they are more physically able to tackle each other
or capable of evading another player's tackle, i.e., if
they're bigger. The man's a dead set genius. Who would have
thought? Clearly not the Maroon selectors, who set about
selecting an accurate half-scale model of an Origin
backline, picking the smallest set of backs this side of the
Lower Clarence Magpies under 8s. When confronted with his
midgetory opposite number Matt Bowen, Anthony Small Stringed
Instrument wasn't sure whether to tackle him or prune him
like a bonsai plant.
Meanwhile, the shock non-selection of Innisfail Bill,
Queensland's favourite ex-trackwork jockey and part-time
model (for the FA Cup trophy), was considered by many as the
most controversial dropping of a player named Slater since a
former NSW opener developed a debilitating powder-related
nasal habit in the months leading up to the last Ashes tour
and couldn't work out which of the three fluoresencent Andy
Caddicks was supposed to be bowling at him. Though team
management preferred to use such phrases as 'unfortunate
loss of form', and later, 'anklyosing spondylitis'.
And in case you missed it, the Rabbitohs got up on the
weekend.
POLITICALLY INCORRECT SMARTARSE COMMENT
WHICH WE SHOULD USE NOW WHILE WE STILL CAN
(courtesy a certain Dr M. Dawson of Somewhere Near Tamworth,
Rural NSW)
Seeing as though the Brisbane league team is called the
Broncos, the new Gold Coast team should probably be called
the Mules, in honour of Schappelle Corby.
Don't look at me like that. This is what happens when you
name your children after US stand-up comedians. Just ask her
younger brother Seinfeld. (And you didn't even know they
were Jewish.)
BUGGRY UNION
And the apocalypse is surely nigh, with clear signs of the
imminent end of the world evident for all the world to see,
such as England presenting a servicable cricket side, and
Wendell Sailor not being totally shit anymore. Who knew?
Apparently the Reds didn't, having sold him to NSW. The
Waratahs, of course, snapped Dell up, as they are
desperately short of showboating, egocentric,
talent-optional ex-Queensland backs with shiny boots,
permanently spotless jerseys (on account of never dirtying
them with tackling et al) and dubious preferences in
hairstyling or lack thereof.
Speaking of slapheads, Aotearoa's favourite World Cup
winning English rugby coach (also Aotearoa's least favourite
World Cup winning English rugby coach, given the size of the
field to choose from) cheerfully wandered away from the
shambles of the most expensively equipped, ludicrously
over-sized and monstrously over-prepared rugby tour in all
of history (we're talking the Lions tour here, where
six-week tour involving a dozen or so games required 51 -
count them, 51 - players). His parting remarks: that he'd
wished he'd brought even more players and spent even more
money. Another genius. He'll do well at newly relegated
Southampton Football Club, his apparent next destination:
they have no money and all their players buggered off
elsewhere when they dropped out of the Premier League.
Did I mention Souths won again? Against Team Noddy? Who
wasn't even knackered from Origin or nuffin? How good are we
etc?
THE STUPIDEST IDEA IN THE WORLD
Powerplays. Supersubs. No, it's not NHL hockey, but like pro
ice hockey it's played seriously by about six nations. It's
the ICC's new regulations for one day cricket folks, which
are in place in the current NatWest One-Day-International
Series/Challenge/Tournament/Filling In Time Before The Ashes
Starts competition between Us and Them. It's not so much
that the new rules are incredibly stupid - they are, there's
very little doubt about that - but the England Cricket Board
(apparently they have one) have decided that the 12th man
who gets a bat or a bowl, depending on whether Poontang
wants to nick off before five o'clock and get his bets on at
the TAB, should be called the 'Supersub'. No idea whether
you can get the Supersub with your choice of five freshly
baked breads, three cheeses and a dorky looking Seppo called
Jared telling you to Eat Fresh. (It's good they've got that
particular public health initiative cos otherwise we'd all
be compelled to Eat Stale, Rank And/Or Fetid.) But even more
cringeworthy is the shiny new PR spin for the blocks of
overs with field restrictions at the start of the innings,
and referred to as 'that block of overs with field
restrictions at the start of the innings'. Now,
whacko-the-diddlio, the fielding captain can shunt them
around in blocks of five, and better still, they're
called... wait for it... POWERPLAYS! Jeezarse Kerist, they
were up all night coming up with that one. Any more
hockey-style crap like this and cricket will be just about
as broke as the NHL, as well. Though they could bring a few
advances across, like those brawls where you pull the dude's
jumper over his head and smack him in the chops. Send Symmo
after that stupid-haired Yarpie fucker Pietersen (after
filling our representative with fermented beverage, of
course.)
And in other news, the ECB has again rewritten history for
PR purposes, by renaming Gladstone Small the Black Steve
Harmison.
And in other other news, Souths beat Cronulla. Badly.
Opposing club officials were later seen remonstrating in the
carpark, with a reliable source claiming to have overheard
George Piggins offering the advice, "Now why don't YOU lot
go and fuck off to Gosford instead?"
THE TITLE OF 'THE STUPID SCHUMACHER BROTHER'
HAS ALWAYS BEEN HOTLY CONTESTED
(I don't actually have anything to say about them, I just
like that headline.)
FOOTBALLROOS, MEAT PIES AND HOLDEN CARS
The Australian national football side (yes, they have one)
finished a very un-Australian arse-last at the recent
Confabulations Cup, shipping goals like demented Qantas
ground staff (presuming the goals were carefully inserted
into someone elses's boogie board bag... OK so this is
wearing thinner than Mary-Kate Olsen, I'll change topic.)
This subsequently and rather inevitably resulted in the
official giving-of-the-arse to head coach Beep Beep Farina.
Apparently having the high-level coaching experience of
leading the now-defunct Brisbane Strikers (who?) to the
championship in the National Soccer League (what?) wasn't
enough to give Franko the skills needed to (a) get us to the
world cup, (b) stop the whole thing from proceeding directly
down the Brasco or (c) end up more of a joke than El Tel.
Correction, at least under El Tel we managed to beat Tunisia
- three-nil, as I recall...
AND NOW THE AFL RESULTS
Yeah, right. Who honestly gives a flying inverted fuck with
two and a half twists, pike and a side salad? I moved here
to get away from mind-numbing Victorian shite like AFL,
Eddie McGuire and Delta Goodrem.
CRICKET AGAIN
In the short period of time while the ECB wasn't in session
thinking up yet more stupid new marketing catchphrases for
things that have been forever, a couple of games of cricket
went on, in which Australia were crap, then good, then crap,
good, crap and good again. We here at Dr Yobbo World
Domination Enterprises Inc. (registered in the Solitary
Islands) have developed a new scientific instrument to
accurately predict the form of the Australian cricket team
in any upcoming fixture. We envisage the sales of this
instrument will skyrocket, particularly in the back offices
of Indian TABs. Though we are currently in the process of
developing patent protection for our invention, we can
exclusively reveal that the new instrument will consist of a
precision-minted coin, complete with instructions on tossing
and/or flipping techniques, with SHIT HOUSE stamped on one
side and SHIT HOT on the other. We are accepting pre-orders,
so order now to ensure disappointment.
GOLF
A small German hatchback, native to the Eastern suburbs of
Sydney. Personally, I'd save up for the new GTI, apparently
it's a weapon with the DSG sequential gearbox.
SMOKING GRASS
Another year, another identikit Wimbledon tournament,
distinguished only by the Tin Henman losing like a true
Englishman (i.e. badly and often) early in the first week
rather than early in the second. Other than that it was all
as per program at Wimbledon this year - Roger the Dodger
won, Llittle Lleyton llost, and yet again, the Wombles were
conspicuous by their absence. 'Common are we', my arse.
SILVERSTONE: GREY CONCRETE
Flat, featureless and impossible to pass on - it must be the
jewel in the crown of British motorsport, Silverstone and
the British F1 Grand Prix. A balding Colombian in an
ill-fitting grey jumpsuit won the race, largely because he
woke up that morning and decided he felt like it. What Juan
Pablo was doing on the other ten race mornings so far this
year remains unknown, but Connie Montoya appears to be
pregnant again. Kimi Hakkinen... no, that's not right...
Mika Raikkonen? Anyway, that Finnish dude (not that other
Finnish dude) carved through the field from midpack in a
breathtaking and audacious drive onto the podium, behind
championship rival Fred Alonso. Eloquently outlining his
day's thrilling adventures and divulging the very thoughts
and feelings which motivated his performance to a captivated
TV audience of millions (or millions less than there used to
watch before Schumacher started winning all the time),
Kimika explained, "Uh... de car... was gud.. and it went...
fast... ja... uh... and tyres... gud... and... yeh... very
hap... py." By which time I'd fallen asleep and missed the
end of the interview. Thank Christ.
UPCOMING FIXTURES
In an astonishing development, there is NO INTERNATIONAL
RUGBY on New Zealand TV this weekend. Greater metropolitan
areas have been declared disaster relief areas as shocked
and stunned residents, surviving on rations of Lions tour
highlights, come to terms with a weekend stripped of hope,
understanding, and Murray Mexted's gaffes about big-titted
chicks in the crowd.
Oh and a bunch of other stuff is on too.
Up the Rabbitohs. The Doctor is OUT.
