Wednesday, April 20, 2011

I swear a lot in this blog

Please put a shirt on

A lot has been written about rugby league this week, from assault to drunken assault and offender to repeat offender. Apparently there were a few games that were played as well - “Dragons win in boring match” and “Raiders still suck and are happy to have their shithouse performances overshadowed by a couple of fuckwits” all got minor write-ups in the media.

And that’s the problem with rugby league in Australia at the moment – there are too many fuckwits playing.

Let’s ignore the main concerns with the game - no one seems sure about how to pack, feed or negotiate a scrum; there’s debate about how to pronounce Isaac de Gois’ name; and teams are swapping coaches, players and tattoo artists mid-season – and let’s concentrate on fuckwits.

The latest fuckwit to have one shandy too-many and beat seven shades of shit out of a woman is Anthony Watts, a bloke I hadn’t actually heard much about before the weekend, when he announced himself as a genuine fuckwit contender by punching a woman. I don’t think we’ll be hearing too much more from him actually, so I won’t waste too much brain space that could be better served remembering characters from Saved by the Bell.

The other fuckwit – probably my current favourite fuckwit - is Todd Carney.

The Raiders kicked him out of their club a few years ago for being a fuckwit, so he spent a year perfecting his drinking and fuckwittery in North Queensland before signing with the Roosters under the tagline of “fallen angel”. He did a round of press where he announced that he had given up the plonk and the pills and was concentrating on nursing orphaned orang-utans back to life and curing cancer in his spare time. That was a year ago.

Now he’s mumbling his way through 2011, squinting at the world, licking windows, dribbling on himself and spending the weekend at the Coogee Pub after telling his team that he was visiting his mum in Goulburn. Not only did Carney not visit his mum to piss it up at the pub, he wouldn’t have been able to if he tried, seeing as he is actually banned from entering Goulburn. While there’s not a lot to do there (the Big Merino is pretty impressive though), being banned from your home town is a pretty good sign that you’re a massive fuckwit, kind of like being denied a UK visa. It’s a special accolade for such a special brand of fuckwit.

In keeping with the rules of league, the NRL gave Carney six chances to get his fuckwittery in order. By my count, he’s up to nine tackles and he’s still a long way downfield. But knowing this fuckwit, he’ll make a break, chip over the top and recollect it to score under the sticks, giving himself the lead and earn himself another six chances.

Carney has not broken any laws in his latest fuckwit escapades ("I haven't done nuffin wronk, but!" Todd grunted). He hasn’t beaten anyone up, pissed on them or been involved in a high-speed car chase while drunk; he was just out on the turps.

His club has told him several times in the past: “Todd, please stop getting on the turps.”
Todd said: “Ok," and went back to staring at the fridge.

Todd got back on the turps in a big way. He is one of Sydney’s most recognisable fuckwits and it’s common knowledge that he isn’t allowed to be on the turps.

If my boss told me to stop thieving stationery from work, I would. I wouldn’t go into Officeworks and load myself up with Sharpies and Post-it notes while their CCTV caught me rubbing myself with those spongey wrist protector things for your keyboard. I wouldn’t try and excuse myself by saying that I suffer from a disorder or an illness that requires constant highlighter stealing.

Todd Carney isn’t sick. He is just a fuckwit. He is a fuckwit who piffs a ball around a field once a week. I’m sure the NRL can find someone else to piff it around instead of Toddy (I'm available for about $30 000; I am shit at footy, but I am a good bloke).

Get well soon, TC. Say hi to Matthew Newton for me in pretend rehab.

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