NRL Grand Final 2010: There can be only one

Here it is, sportsfans – welcome to the end of the season. And what a bottler of a season it has been; the Storm were ousted as big fat cheats, Brett Stewart was cleared of being a big fat sexual deviant, Jonathan Thurston confirmed that he is a big fat pisshead, Joey Johns became a big fat racist, Israel Folou is just a big fat loser, the NSW Origin team are all big fat fucking fucks and the majority of the NRL are just a bunch of big fat dickheads (except for Alan Tongue, who is a legend).

In my first NRL blog of 2010, I said the following:

My hot tips: Cronulla to win the spoon, Storm to win the premiership (again) and
the Raiders will not do too much to bother anyone. The Roosters will have a
fucking dismal season and everyone in the Titans will get arrested for separate
incidents. Willie Mason will do nothing like he has for the last 20 years of his
career, Braith Anasta will also continue his fine run of uselessness, Todd
Carney will get into a lot more trouble, since he is in a much bigger place with
way more people to rape and piss on and a whole new city in which to get drunk
and bashed. Whoever’s coaching the Broncos will get fired, and Lockyer will take
over as captain/coach and retire because he's not good at being either.

I couldn’t be bothered re-reading my predictions, so I’m just going to assume that I’m 100% correct on all of those issues.

Dragons vs Roosters
I’ve been on the Dragons bandwagon for quite some time now, and hated the shit out of the Roosters for even longer. I still can’t believe they’ve made it to the Grand Final – Todd Carney can’t either, and he’s still not sure if this is just a massive acid trip that has lasted nine months.

I think it would be a total injustice to the St Georgians if they lost this match – they have been out and out the best team this year and have played the better football (note: not always the most exciting football; the way they destroyed Manly in the first week of finals was painful, cruel and utterly ruthless). Plus, I have a man-crush on Jamie Soward; not only because I am fairly confident that he is one of the few people in the universe who would not be able to tackle me, but because he dances when he kicks:



That would have been better if he’d actually kicked the goal, but you get the idea.

The Roosters, well… fuck. Not even their mums love them with their shit haircuts and rubbish tattoos and supermodel girlfriends that they have to hide from their regular model wives. If Carney and his partner (I mean that in the literal sense), Mitchell Pearce don’t play well, expect the streets of Bondi to be awash with latte-flavoured tears as the Chooks go down by at least 40. And if they play well, they will only lose by around 10.

Thank you umpires, thank you ball boys.


Why do tips suddenly appear… every time… I am near?