THE MEMORY ROMAINS
Match of the Weak in the Premiership saw Arsenal host Liverpool at the Plummett Airways Stadium, Norf Laaarnd'n. Arsenal are yet to lose at their new home ground since moving from Highbury (aka 'The Library') Stadium at the start of the season. For their part, Liverpool have played half a dozen away games so far this season and have managed to accrue the stupendous return of... one point. Garnered from one draw, five losses and absolutely no wins whatsoever. Liverpool's shitbox away form has been blamed on many things - coach Rafa Benitez' squad rotation policy, the poor form of captain and midfield general Stevie Gerrard, not having Harold Kewell's hairdo around the place for comic relief on the training pitch - but the culprit, as ever, is patently obvious. Liverpool play like shit away from home because they're asked to play looking like shit away from home - their pus-yellow away shirt looks like Romania on a bad day. Like the day at the '98 World Cup the Romanians all dyed their hair blonde after they beat England - and went on to play even more shit than they looked, losing to Croatia.
Not a good look, on any level
As above - in fact the Pool away strip's so fuckin' ugly this one guy just started to whale on Stevie G out of sheer aesthetic disgust
So Arsenal went on to win three-blot - no change there then - leaving most observers to ponder the inevitable impenetrables from the fixture. How good are Arsenal when their opponents allow them to play football? Are Liverpool the ultimate 'cup team' - brilliant on their day, appalling the other 364, and as consistent as freshly minted dog sick? And is 'ASNL' the ultimate cop-out from TV networks attempting to provide a truncated team-name abbreviation for the score-counter in the top corner? Granted, the other options aren't that appealing. There's only two of them. One option is ARSE. The other is A'NAL. Either way, they're buggered... which is roughly how Liverpool are feeling at the moment.
"You expect me to wear THIS hideous thing? C'est le merde!"
ENGLAND ARE RUBBISH
And on so many levels. But we'll begin with egg-chasin', the game they play in Heaven. Not sure how they fit all those fat bastards inside a choccy-coated icecream, but knowing them rugger buggers, no points for guessing what happens with the big stick. England played Argentina last weekend and lost by the same score that Australia beat Italy by, suggesting that at best, England are as good at rugby as a bunch of poncing, self-obsessed, promenading mincers more interested in cultivating their hairdos than playing rugby. And they're probably not much better than Italy either. The Argentina result was allegedly a shock-horror result for the ongoing train smash that is English rugby, or English sport in general, but the actual surprise isn't that great; the last time England actually defeated Argentina was in the Falklands.
INSERT GRATUITOUS USE OF THE TERM 'CHEESE EATING SURRENDER MONKEYS'
Meanwhile, World Number One met World Number Two and did Number Two all over them. New Zealand have played France in France twice in the last 24 months, in each case with the pair ranked 1 and 2 in the world, for a net score of ninety-two points to nine. Memo to the French rugby association: stop scheduling games against the All Blacks at this time of year. You don't need to honour Armistice Day by surrendering to anyone in a snappy uniform just out of habit.
As for the Wallabies... uh, yeah. Fuck they're terrible. Even if the Italian 'diving like Louganis' gene clearly crosses the oval ball/round ball divide, judging by the Oscarescent flop enacted by the guy Brendan Cannon chinned. It's time for action, people. We could fire Knuckles, we could bring back Nobody, we could stick the whole team in a hessian sack and beat them with a length of pipe just for entertainment... but what we need is a much, much more incisive, innovative, plan. And I gots me one.
Anyone know if any of those All Blacks have an Aussie grandmother?
Even a great-grandmother would be fine. All else fails we can probably Photoshop the paperwork.
"Am I not Kiwi enough?..."
Anyway NZ, swap you this guy for one of your halves? Dan? Byron? Fuck it, we'd even take Steve Devine back since you're not really using the bastard
ENGLAND ARE RUBBISH, PART TWO
Which brings us to the Current Ashes Holders (and don't that just make you wanna spit) and their warmup game against Australia A, better known as the New South Wales cricket team. (Use of the name 'SpeedBlitz Blues' will be punished with large volumes of indiscriminate violence.) Following Phil Jaques' back-to-back centuries against the England bowling attack, it seems the only thing missing from his overall game appears to be a Baggy Green. Or being mid-thirties, unshaven, obnoxious and fervently God-squad, which seems to be the established means of securing an innings-opening slot in the Australian first XI. Meanwhile, Marcus Stresscothick's bottle remains at large. Also missing without trace at press time are Freddy Flintoff's away-swinger, Kevin Pietersen's humility, and any point to Ian Bell.
Man, that's some bad skunk
GIBBER NOW, PAY LATER
Largely ignored amidst higher-profile stories of the Weak was the retirement of former MotoGP 'first loser' Sete Gibernau, largely because noone really gives an arse about him. Gibernau, Rossi's bitch in 2003/04, had an appalling season this year for Ducati, blighted with injuries sustained in the first corner pileup at Catalunya which also bashed up Marco Melandri, Loris Capirossi and the world's ambitions of not having a Cletus from Kentucky winning the biggest prize in two-wheeled motorsport. Gibber's season was also blighted by him not being very good any more; teammate Capirossi, injured or not, strung together three wins on the same bike (more, of course, than 'champion' Hayden) and even that old bugger Bayliss who they got across from World Superbike managed to win the last GP of the year - on Gibernau's bike.
Bayliss riding it like he stole it. Given that he's a former house painter from Taree, not a huge departure there
So Sete's been sent packing in favour of young Kurri muncher Casey Stoner, and rather than turning out for a B-grade squad like Kawasaki, has decided to pull stumps. Making world rally ace and part-time factory Yamaha rider Valentino 'Stig' Rossi into something of a Nostrildramas character; after the pair barrelled into each other on the last corner of the season-opening Spanish GP in '04, Rossi declared the precious Spaniard would never win another MotoGP race. A big call considering Gibernau had won half a dozen races in the previous two years and was his closest championship rival... but as it turned out, Rossi was proved correct.
If only he'd said it about Hayden instead.
EEJIT OF THE WEAK
Finally, in keeping with the Mo' Sport theme from last Weak's award to pissed Canadian bogan Paul Tracy, this Weak's award goes to whoever the hell designs the circuits for the A1GP people, particularly that used in last weekend's inaugural (and probably final) street race in Beijing, on which it was easier to pass gallstones than cars. Not only did they decide to stick the manhole covers down with Blu-Tac, these lads also stuck in a hairpin so tight that some teams considered fitting handbrakes and getting their drivers to bust out the old Scandinavian flick.
No prizes for guessing which nation busted out the 'safety orange' paintjob. Rumours that the Dutch team are about to sign a sponsorship deal with Yellow Cabs of Brisvegas remain unconfirmed.
And yeah, that's our lot next in the queue in the green and gold conveyance with the Fosters stickers - the Strayan team scored a podium with young Karl Reindler steering, swerving, ducking and dodging, and trying to pretend he wasn't in any way German.
Der Doktor is OUT.
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