NRL Round 17: Third time’s a charm

Origin Three is dominating headlines again this week in the world of rugby league, as the decider draws ever closer. I may be alone here (hence the fact that I am not wearing pants), but I really can’t wait for this series to be over so we can get back to normal teams playing each other without having to worry about Darren “Strepsils” Lockyer or Paul “Garbage Truck” Gallen being gods on earth.

Or maybe it’s just that there really aren’t any players in Origin (either team) that I want to dry-hump that’s shaking my enthusiasm for the game. I remember back in the mid-90s when State of Origin was like seeing the Raiders vs Brisbane and everyone (me) went home happy, knowing that they’d just seen Big Mal smash Laurie Daley as Steve Walters and Brad Clyde punched the shit out of each other.

Another short round (“You call him Doctor Jones, lady!”) with teams made up of bright-eyed, bushy-tailed youngsters with a spring in their step and lollipop dreams instead of battle-hardened creatures carved from stone and beaten with rusty chains until they fart lightning and feel no pain. And it’s a tough round to pick because of this – some interesting match-ups with the Baby Broncos taking on the Shithouse Eels and a few underperforming walruses in the form of the Sharks and the Rabbitohs locking horns for a stoush that honestly, literally, metaphorically and figuratively could go both ways.

Eels vs Broncos
Panthers vs Bulldogs
Sharks vs Rabbitohs
Dragons vs Knights

GAME OF THE WEEK
Roosters vs Raiders

This game is shaping up to be another epic battle between two teams who really should be going a lot better than they currently are. It’s always a great contest between these two clubs as Canberra tries to unleash hell on their long-lost brother Todd “Fucko McFuckwit” Carney, who must be suffering from the bends with the pace at which he peaks and troughs.

The Raiders continue to astound statisticians and journalists the world over by somehow being a bee’s dick away from making the top eight, despite the only thing they’ve won this year was a game of Pin the Tail on the Donkey at Matt Orford’s 40th birthday party. It’s this kind of logic that will carry them to victory in this game.

Also, the Roosters are shit and I hate them.

The crowd (both of them) loves the awesome choreography and synchronisation of the Raiderettes.

MEB cumulative score: 67

an open letter to mcdonalds

Dear Ronald,

I was a recent customer at one of your fine establishments, and thought I’d drop you a quick letter about my experience.

My McDonalds visit began quite well; I wound down my car window to yell my order at the drive-thru box, and that unmistakable McDonalds smell filled my car – it is indeed the scent of childhood and birthday parties, and according to rumour, also the smell of homeless people being ground up and made into burgers. If there was any hydration left in my body, that smell would have caused me to salivate, but seeing as I was at McDonalds, it meant that I was as hungover as Charlie Sheen and needed all the moisture my body could produce to enable me to speak.

I don’t know if it was my hangover, my disdain for fuckheaded teenagers, or the fact that the fuckheaded teenager taking my order was exceptionally fuckheaded (possibly a combination), but try this conversation when you can feel your eyeballs pulse with every heartbeat:
“Hi, what do you want?”
“Can I please have a large Big Mac meal, a Gr-”
“Is that all?”
“Sorry?”
“Is that all?”
“No. A Grand Angus, a six-”
“Is that all?”
“No. And a six-pack of -”
“Is that all?”
“A six-pack of nuggets SHUT THE FUCK UP and a chocolate sundae.”
“Is that all?”
“And a cheeseburger. And that is all.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes. That is all.”
“That’s a million billion dollars, please drive through to the next window.”

It’s at the mystical “next window” that I met the little shit who took my order. I’m not sure why I couldn’t just tell him face-to-face instead of leaning out of my car window and yelling into the speaker, but I’ll leave that up to you to work out, Ronald.

Upon receiving my bag of deliciousness, I drove home, set up a fort made out of cushions and spread out my feast of saturated fats, unsaturated fries and moist ice-cream. On the drive home from the restaurant, I had made a mental plan of how I was going to eat this meal: fries go inside the cheeseburger, take alternate bites of that and sundae (also eaten with fries). Then two nuggets, then the Big Mac, then the rest of my nuggets (while mindlessly stuffing more fries into my mouth). Drink the melted bits of my sundae and scoop out the chocolate with my fingers. Then I would eat the bits of the Grand Angus that my girlfriend didn’t want and finish off with a massive coronary. It was all planned out, Ronald, and it was going to be glorious.

The entrée of fries and cheeseburger began badly when I realised that there was a missing ingredient – the burger. A cross-section of the burger went: bun, cheese, pickle, bun. I am sure about this; I checked it at least twice. I even checked the bag again to make sure that the patty hadn’t been wrapped separately. I know that you are running a very successful organisation, Ronald, I would advise against selling cheese sandwiches. That thing tasted like balls.

The Grand Angus for mains was also disappointing, in the fact that it was a chicken burger with no sauce, and the tomato slice within the burger still contained the stem from the plant (seriously, why are you combining chicken, tomato and cheese anyway? Does anyone actually eat these things before you sell them, or do you just assume: chicken = good, tomato = good, cheese = good, slap them all together and serve them in Grand Angus packaging?) and it looked like the genius who made it wasn’t sure if there was supposed to be lettuce in the burger or not, as there was enough to confuse it for garnish, but not entirely enough for it to be tasted.

The meal wasn’t a complete disaster however, as the McNuggets lived up to their full potential; if anything, I was disappointed that I didn’t get a larger pack. The fries too, were outstanding and hot – I don’t know if this is due to them being freshly cooked, or whether there are new heat lamps being used, and I don’t care. Whatever you are doing there is good by me.

Anyway, that was my McDonalds experience, Ron. While it wasn’t the best time of my life, it wasn’t a complete mess and I’ll definitely do it again soon. However, if I ever get that punk in the drive-thru again, I’m going to climb through that little window and kick the shit out of him.

I hope that things are still going well for you. Say hi to Grimace for me, and you really should make more commercials involving the Hamburglar. I swear that kids today have never seen him.

Cheers,

Mister Evil Breakfast

I see what you did there

Round 16: One Man to Rule Them All

The big news in the NRL this week has revolved around one bloke, and one bloke only – Jonathan Thurston. Thursty was charged with recklessly tackling a referee during last week’s game (and sleeping with his wife afterwards) and could have been ruled out for two games if found guilty; one game being against the Panthers, the other game being the State of Origin decider, so you can sort of see why it held some importance to league fans.

The entire population of Queensland was beating their collective chest and picking nits out of each other’s fur about the judiciary hearing, as the loss of “JT” (not Justin Timberlake) would have put a big ol’ stick in the spokes of the Origin tricycle. Without the Origin shield to display at Queensland HQ (the Big Gumboot in Tully), the Vancouver riots would have looked like a Teddy Bear’s Picnic, and I can assure you that the “Vancouver riot kiss” would have turned into an all-out Maroon-coloured orgy, with thousands upon thousands of misshapen Queensland babies born nine months down the track, all called “Jaytee” and born with shit-house angel wing tattoos.

But we don’t have to worry about freak zombie children from Queensland (too much), as Thurston was cleared of reckless behaviour (but not cleared of syphilis) and will take his usual place in the halfback position for QLD and the reverse cowboy position with Billy Slater’s wife.

The sounds of disgruntled grunts grunting from Queensland this week have otherwise overshadowed a fairly interesting looking round of fooseball – the Tigers and Bulldogs game should be evenly matched with the Tigers missing the firepower of Benji Marshall and the Doggies missing firepower; the Titans and the Sharks battle it out to prove once and for all who is the shittest team; and the previously top-of-the-ladder St George Illawarra Steel Dragons look to shake off a losing streak against the in-form Manly Warringah Northern Sea Eagles. I love a good merger that people forget about.

Tigers vs Bulldogs
Rabbitohs vs Broncos
Titans vs Sharks
Warriors vs Storm
Panthers vs Cowboys
Knights vs Roosters
Dragons vs Sea Eagles

Game of the round:
The Game of the Round was a hard one to pick this week, as the Knights and the Roosters would have been a good one to dissect (to be honest, I would have just talked about how shit Todd Carney is and why I don’t like him AGAIN), but the eventual winner of the prestigious award is the game between the Raiders (woo! RAIDERS!) and the Parramatta Eels.

Raiders vs Eels
Scoring 24 points in a game should be enough to win most league encounters, and is the exact amount that the Raiders have managed to rack up in the past two weeks before fucking out and finding a new way to lose a game of footy.

NOT THIS WEEK.

The Eels are a struggling team – their attack is predictable and shit (and predictably shit), and is done exclusively by Jarryd Hayne, while their defence is solid but has a weakness in that it is all done by Nathan Hindmarsh. According to my calculations, that leaves eleven blokes standing around saying, “Oooh don’t we look nice in our blue and yellow jumpers?”

Sure, the Raiders let Shaun Fensom handle all of their tackling, but they ensure that all thirteen players are involved in their offense, which consists of “the inside ball.” Strangely, the only people who aren’t ready for “the inside ball” are the Raiders’ support players, but I’ve got a good feeling that it’s going to work well this week, and that magic 24-point buffer will hold out nicely.

I also have a feeling that Natalie Portman is going to come over to my house and feed me Tim Tams while I watch Jurassic Park. If both of my feelings actually come to fruition, it will be a good weekend for all.

The Raiders are setting new standards in enthusiasm

MEB cumulative score: 62

Neighbours. Everybody needs good neighbours.

This rare behind-the-scenes photo reveals a lot about the Neighboursverse: Karl and Susan drinking coffee and gossiping about Andrew, who is ordering coffee while talking overly loud to Lucas, and some extras practicing drinking coffee. And a camera left unattended while the cameraman gets a coffee

Ramsay Street is a turbulent place at the best of time, but lately it has been off the fucking chart. We’ve got new characters, old characters, characters who wear ties, characters who don’t wear ties, dickheads, wankers and fuckwits. It’s a ticking time-bomb inside a pressure cooker with a lit fuse just waiting to boil over.

I haven’t been able to keep entirely up-to-date with the residents of Erinsborough, but I’m pretty sure I can go all Sherlock on myself and piece together the pieces of this many-pieced puzzle.

Pop the kettle on, this could take a while.
To kick off, let’s see who was super shit enough to not have their Neighbours contract extended:

Zeke’s gone. He might have headed overseas to pursue his blossoming DJ career, but it’s more likely that he died in a canoeing accident. For some reason, water had a magnetic attraction for Zeke, if magnets had the power to kill.

Steph has gone because she ran over Ringo and killed him and was shipped off to jail somewhere in Fuck Knows Nowhere, Victoria. Following the shocking jury decision (although since the charge was drink driving occasioning death, it really shouldn’t have come as too much of a surprise to anyone), Lyn grabbed Steph’s ugly kid (not Summer, the other one) and has moved to Fuck Knows so they can be closer to the drug-addicted alcoholic homicidal maniac that is Steph. I love a close-knit family. Except that they left Summer behind (good choice), so I guess Lyn’s pretty choosey about who she wants in her family. When the ugly kid and Steph get props over you, you might want to stop and think about your life.

Lyn’s absence obviously meant that there was an empty house on Ramsay. Better fill that space up with a couple of dickheads:
Kyle (that loveable larrikin who you may recognise as the bloke who always wears singlets, tries to donk anything that moves, drinks shit tins of orange juice at the pub and will only watch movies starring Steven Segal, just like every 20-something male in existence);
Jade - Sonya’s sister who is inexplicably of a different race than the rest of her family; and
Kate’s ex-boyfriend Mr Policeman, who moved in with the idiots above, regardless of the fact that they didn’t have jobs and are about ten years younger than him. I’m guessing that the pull of Ramsay Street got him in the end; it’s a well known fact that if you spend too long on Neighbours, one day you’ll wake up living in Lyn’s house… Also, the fact that the house is next door to Kate’s place probably helped. Because living next door to your ex girlfriend while you’re sharing a place with the girl you cheated on her with isn’t awkward at all, right? Right.

Mr Policeman is in a spot of bother for blowing the whistle on corrupt cops in Erinsborough, and has been “copping” it from his cop friends since he filed a report. Being the great journo that he is, Paul Robinson got wind of the story and threatened to blow the whole thing “sky high” by running it in the Erinsborough News (readership: 10 billion trillion people). Kate asked him not to run the story for the sake of Mr Policeman (I can’t really remember why, but I think it had something to do with bears), so Paul ran a story about high interest rates instead. Phew. Mr Policeman is safe. WAIT… interest rates are at what level? Jesus, I’m never going to be able to afford a house. Good one, Paul, you peg-legged dick.

After being abandoned by her family, Summer was absorbed into Karl and Susan’s house. Fuck. I couldn’t think of anything worse than living with those two douchebags. In a rarity for Neighbours writing, Karl has realistically cracked the shits with Susan and said, “I am so fucking sick of all the motherfucking teenagers in this house.” (the part of Dr Karl was played by Samuel L. Jackson) Susan quelled that storm by replying, “It’s only for a few more years.” Then they had some coffee and forgot about it.

Summer is also dating Rob Farnham aka Andrew, the mysteriously Scottish son of Paul Robinson. Paul has just offered Summer a journalist position at the Erinsborough News, which for a 17-year old with no qualifications is a pretty tidy opportunity. When I was 17, I worked at Woolworths and wanted a pair of rollerblades. The closest I came to being offered anything while I was working there was when some paedophile tried to get me involved in his Amway-selling scheme. I guess kids today are different with their hopes and dreams, and paedos are way more generous than they used to be.

Andrew has decided to focus his attention on his burgeoning entertainment business (what does that even mean?) and can’t wait to finish school so he can really reap the benefits. Apparently Andrew has been running dance parties for years as a side job to being a student, being awesome and having shit hair. AND he’s only about 15 years old. He might also have access to a time machine, seeing as no-one has even thought about a dance party since 1997.

Summer dragged Andrew to the Erinsborough University to do some recon on the campus and students for his ‘entertainment business,’ but Andrew seemed sceptical that the university crowd would be into it. “This guys don’ haf any monay tay partay wif,” he announced. “Noo let’s goo an’ get oorselfs soom coffee. Iss bin aboot an hoor since weef had one.” I’m glad that Andrew knows his target audience so well, and recognises that high school kids earn more money than adults.

In life away from Lyn’s house:
Harold is back from his across-Australia tour, and looky-looky, he’s brought himself a wife - the old duck from the Spray and Wipe ads. The wedding was glorious, as Harold spent most of the ceremony talking about his first wife before they all head to Charlie’s for a drink (orange juice) at the reception afterwards. I loved the fact that the bar was still decorated with advertising despite the reception being held there. I’m sure Mr and Mrs Spray and Wipe Bishop will love the fact that their wedding photos have the dates for Magic Dirt’s 2007 tour in the background.

The Neighbours writers realised that they hadn’t had a chance to use their hospital set for a while, so they made Lou collapse, thereby fixing that little oversight quick-smart by plonking him in the usual private room with machines going “ping” and Dr Karl dropping by to show off his lovely white coat and clipboard ensemble.

I’m not entirely sure what’s in the water in Erinsborough, but Kyle has followed the trend set by Andrew and has also decided to be his own boss by becoming a “professional handy man.” I would have assumed that being a professional man-whore would have been more apt, but that’s just me. I’m not sure where he decided that handiwork was a good idea, seeing as the only remotely handy thing he’s done is apply glue to a shelf, which then attracted a coffee mug and his own hand. Fuck I want to live on Ramsay Street - for one, I’d be able to kill Natasha a lot easier, and secondly I’d be able to become a professional Alec Baldwin impersonator within a week.

I’m going out on a limb and assuming that Kyle is also using Andrew’s time machine to go back to 1947 when handymen still existed. In the year 2011, if your dishwasher fucks out, you call a dishwasher repairman. If your car breaks down, you get a mechanic to look at it. You don’t call a 20-year old kid to turn up and poke around with nothing more than hope and a screwdriver.

Natasha has begun sleeping with a skeezy older man who rakes leaves for a living (seriously, how do I get to Ramsay St?), who makes constant references to the fact that she “looks hot” when she wears her school uniform during their back-seat encounters during her free periods at school. There are two ways that Natasha would ever be described as hot – one is if she has a crowbar sticking out of her mangled face, the other is if you were a skeezy old man. In Neighbours’ latest Community Service Announcement, Tash took a nudie photo of herself (in the toilets at Harold’s café) and sent it to Skeezy’s phone.

To end this Neighbours update, I’m proud to announce another Neighbours first:
Say hello to Chris, the token gay kid. Hi Chris. Chris hasn’t done anything of note since joining the cast, and that will be the status quo until another gay bloke moves in. Because as we all know, gay people spend all their time thinking gay thoughts about being gay. Oh, and drinking coffee, but that’s a Neighbours thing.

MEB’s Neighbours predictions
- electrical fire caused by Kyle’s shithouse handiwork
- Natasha’s photo is going to “go viral” and attract more views than the Erinsborough News and Google* combined. She will cop a mighty punishment from her dad, who will forbid her from having sex with random old blokes
*Note: The Neighbours universe has its own search engine, called “Poodle.” It’s pink and has a dog.
- Mr Copper will continue to cop flak from corrupt cops and will eventually leave the street to save the people he loves (from bears?)
- Karl is going to go postal for a week and recite Ezekial 25:17 before killing a lot of people before apologising and going back to being a boring old dick
- Toadie will get married again. That guy loves his nuptials

MEB’s Neighbours Peeve of the Week
In the opening credits, it shows Sonya and Libby together. They are blowing bubbles in the backyard and having a good giggle about it. It looks fucking stupid and if anyone out there can tell me if they know of ANY women (or men) who get together for a good old-fashioned bubble-blowing afternoon in the sun, I’d love to meet them (and feed them to a bear).

NRL 2011 Round 15: My knee is itchy

So the post-Origin hangover should be well and truly out of everyone’s system by now, and the taste of Paul Gallen’s monstrous 80-minute Lazarus-like knob has been washed out of every sports journalist’s mouth (I don’t count) and we can all collapse back into the regular season.

Congrats to NSW, who did what few people thought they’d ever be able to do – win a game of football. Hopefully this will inspire other retarded teams to go out and dream that impossible dream and achieve victory. Pity the Raiders aren’t playing this week. On the plus side, it gives them another couple of days to (a) keep cleaning the trays in McDonalds restaurants, and (b) recover from the massive round of testicle-kicking I promised them after losing last week.

There’s an awkward feeling you get when you walk out of a movie with your friends and they’re all saying, “That was the greatest movie I’ve ever seen!” and you’re thinking, “I can’t believe that this movie was ever allowed to be made, let alone that I actually paid money to sit and watch it.” I got this feeling after reading some reports about Origin. It wasn’t the worst game I’ve ever seen (I have been a Raiders fan for a long time, after all), but for an exhibition of the game’s best players, there was a lack of spark, fluency and creativity from the backlines of each team. I mean, we don’t expect much from NSW, or for that matter, any team that has Mitchell Pearce involved, but with Thursty “Shit Tatts” Thurston and Dazzler “Batman” Lockyer running the show for the Aubergines, there was a distinct lack of crisp cut-out passes to players running into gaps, sneaky dummies and set plays that were pulled off with precision. As the Blues continued to pile on some great defensive pressure, the Queenslanders just didn’t adapt their game to counter it.

That was a long and sensible paragraph that had way too many insights into the sport. I apologise; it won’t happen again (it might).

Broncos v Dragons
Rabbitohs v Titans
Knights v Panthers
Cowboys v Warriors
Bulldogs v Sharks
Tigers v Storm
Sea Eagles v Eels

How much did I suck at tipping last week? Yep, plenty. And don’t think I wouldn’t do it again, either.

The Hayne Plane has been grounded due to volcanic ash and the fact that he is shit

MEB cumulative score: 56

State of Origin Game 2, 2011: Don't forget to write a witty heading before posting this blog

Tonight’s State of Origin clash is shaping up to be one of the most important games in recent memory. Speaking of recent memories, mine was waking up surrounded by tequila bottles, blood, a shovel and what appeared to be half a prostitute (I’m not saying which half). Perhaps other people’s lives (and memories) are different to mine.

NSW are under massive amounts of pressure to put a halt to QLD’s winning streak, which dates back to biblical times. “And God did say unto Methuselah, ‘Take this twenty dollars to the TAB and put it on Queensland to win.’ Methuselah did as God intended, and won enough money to buy beer and some chips. And God saw that this was good.”

Of course, the Queensland domination of Origin won’t last for too much longer as their key players will give up representative football in the next few years, but winning against a team without Lockyer (retired), Civenociva (old age), Thurston (pubic lice), Slater (rat farming) and Smith (shaving) will be hollow, and for any kind of pride to be instilled within the NSW culture, they need to win this series.

The Blues’ preparation hasn’t exactly been ideal, losing Dugan to injury and Morris to stupidity, and then replacing them with Hayne and Minichiello. Not the good Minichiello either.

Sticky Tricky Ricky “Supercoach Selector Superstar Super Super” Stuart has hocked a giant loogie in the face of his previous selection process by backflipping on the idea of not choosing players out of position, as he has picked fullback Hayne for the wing, lock Gallen as a front-row prop and spastic Minichiello on the field. I’m not saying that Gallen isn’t big enough to be a prop, but it will force him to play a completely different style of game to what he’s used to. His speed and mobility may have been a factor in his controversial position selection, but with rain and heavy ground forecast for Sydney, this may mean sweet motherfucking fuck all. A guy running fast but unable to change direction is about the same as a guy running slowly who can’t change direction, and he will be duly eaten alive by the maroon forwards.

Queensland have made only a couple of changes to their team, with Gringlis taking his place in the centres, replacing Tonga who decided that having two working shoulders was way overrated. Greggie hasn’t had the smoothest of 2011s, but has that certain knack for saving all of his good form for Origin games. If I was a betting man, I’d put a coin or two on him to snatch a try. Possibly the second try.

Mister Evil Breakfast’s Philosophical Tip:
The game will not be won by NSW. If they are to secure victory, it will not be because they won, but because QLD lost.

I am prepared to eat all of these words, by the way. Especially the word “chips.”

Regardless of how many shit tattoos you may have, you can rest easy knowing that Thurston's are worse

NRL Round 14: Injuries and spell-check

It’s a tough game, this rugby league caper. So is writing about it – without the correct posture, you can really get a stiff back. Phroar. I wonder if anyone has had a typing injury, like if they pressed too hard on a key (the D key looks like a likely candidate) and jarred their finger or something. If this has happened, I would like the blogosphere to make it known that amateur writing is just as hard and dangerous as playing professional football. Especially when you’re doing it at work and ignoring your job.

Injuries have shaken the NRL world to its core, and with Origin on in less than a week, it leaves this weekend’s teams all higgledy-piggledy. FYI, higgledy-piggledy is in the MS Word dictionary. FYI, it’s also in auto-correct. FYI, I misspelled it, that’s how I know.

Origin, injuries and turmoil are the topics taking up the NRL newsbucket this week, as embattled Bulldogs coach Kevin Moore was told “your team is shit,” to which he replied, “Yeah, tell me about it.” I reckon he’s trawling seek.com.au for a new job as we speak. Parramatta bigwigs are also mourning the fact that they didn’t sign Darren Lockyer as a junior sixteen years ago, claiming they saw great potential in the young five-eighth even way back then. Funnily enough, he was playing fullback at the time. It also appears that he may have caught the eye of some Brisbane scouts, so Parra can shove that shithouse story up their Eric Grothe Jr. I could write all day about how I stupidly turned down the role of Han Solo in Star Wars (the filming dates conflicted with the time that I was alive), or the time I didn’t take the opportunity to marry Natalie Portman (every day). Sometimes you just have to accept the fact that opportunities aren’t there solely for you.

The team doctor measures up players for bogan tattoos

Round 14
There are some tough decisions to make this week as teams take the field without their Origin stars and injured players, so it all comes down to how you reckon the second-string players will go, or how important a left centre really is. Answer: not really integral, but handy to have – kind of like your appendix.

Dragons v Titans
Sea Eagles v Cowboys
Warriors v Tigers
Storm v Roosters

Broncos v Raiders

FOR FUCK’S SAKE. What the fuck happened last week, Raiders? Jesus suffering fuck. Fucking hell.

FUCK.

Giving up a 22-point lead is never a good thing for anyone in any sport. Giving up a 22-point lead to lose by 16 is just fucking unforfuckingivable. What a fucking disgrace.

Right. Onto this week. The Raiders had just one player picked for Origin duty, but he decided to plonk himself on the injured list instead. Other Canberra players decided that the injured list looked like a good list to be on, so they joined him there, including Terry Campese, whose 2011 season consisted of seven minutes on the field, before he tore his groin muscle into confetti. Nice one, Tezza. At least your highlights reel will be a simple editing job.

I’m going for the Raiders in this game, simply because the Broncs always struggle without their senior players who are away on Origin duty. It’s the game that Canberra needs to win, and if they don’t then I’m kicking them all in the balls. Seriously, I will hunt down all of the players and fucking boot them right in the scrote.

On a sad and controversial and angry note, Josh Miller may be forced to leave the Raiders at the end of this year due to salary cap restrictions. Miller is a good young player who bleeds lime green – the Raiders need him to stick around, and should do whatever the fuck it takes to keep him in the nation’s capital. Lose that Orford bloke, or sell half of Tom Learoyd-Lahrs’ name or something. If they lose Miller, he will get bought by another club while he is in the prime of his career and will destroy his opposition. If the Raiders can stop being a springboard club for future superstars of the game, that would be tops.

MEB cumulative score: 55

Run out without facing a ball in his final Test

Simon Katich’s international career ended on June 7, 2011 – a day that shall hereby be known as Krab Day, in memory of the way that Simon sideways-walked his way around the batting crease.

Even photographs of Simon Katich are known to grow stubble

Cricket Australia released the twenty-five contracted players for Australia yesterday, effectively closing the book on the international career of Simon Katich. Marcus North was also a name notably (and thankfully) missing from the list. When approached for comment, North slurred, “I’ve got me name on the honours board at Lord’s. Youse can go fuck yourselfs.”

CA announced that they were mindful of establishing an effective top order partnership. “It takes time to get a good opening partnership and we now think the time is right to make sure we've got the right opening partnership come the Ashes [in 2013].”

The need to establish a strong opening partnership is obvious, yet baffling when you consider that CA threw another contract towards Phillip Hughes, who plays at the ball the way my gran swishes her hand at blowflies in the summer. His Test form is shit, his state form is shit, and from all reports, his form in the backyard against his cousin (who’s a girl) is also shit and he has to resort to cheating to score runs.

The ‘strong opening partnership’ that CA are looking for has already been found with Katich and Watson, who normally work well together against the new ball. The problems with Australia’s batting come in the middle order as muppets like Ponting and Clarke succumb to short balls, full balls, wide balls and balls pitched in the general vicinity of the wicket. This then brings an out-of-place Steve Smith to the wicket, whose batting technique looks like it's based on watching a handful of scratchy home-made self-help cricketing videos that he found in his neighbour’s garage when he was huffing paint.

The Australian bowling is even worse, and looks like it’s going to be bolstered by a couple of teenagers. It will be a massive honour for them to be sharing the ball with Mitchell Johnson; regardless of whether they’re copping stick from the batsmen, at least they can hold their heads high and say, “I may be shit, but I’m not Mitchell Johnson shit.” They will be released from their contracts the following year and will thankfully go back to their old lives, giving hand-jobs in the back rows of pornographic theatres.

I’m all for the introduction of youth in the squad, but why combine the inexperience of a James Pattinson with the general awfulness of a Mitch Johnson and the ineffectiveness of a Nathan Hauritz? Who are these young kids going to ask when they have questions on where to pitch the ball for a particular batsman? Do they know where to land it to contain runs?

At the very least, we've got Patrick Cummins, whose name lends itself to a handful (snigger) of dirty jokes. "Cummins makes his mark," "Quick Cummins," "Indians choke on Cummins" and "Clarke sticks with Cummins" are all headlines I'm looking forward to.



The axing of Katich is a nail right through the testicles of Australian cricket – it probably won’t kill it, but it’s going to hurt for a long, long time.

Simon Katich has played a different part in all of our lives – solid opening batsman, contestant on Celebrity MasterChef and the guy voted to have the ‘best five o’clock shadow at 10am.' With a Test average of 45.03, including ten 100s and twenty-five 50s, he will be remembered as a gritty performer for Australian cricket both on and off the field, showing passion that was neither practiced or endorsed by Sanitarium.

While strangling his captain for not joining in the team's victory song following a rare win might not have been in his best interests, I think Kat will look back on that moment as one of his greatest achievements. Australian cricket is weaker for not having more people who have throttled Michael Clarke.

NRL 2011 - Round 13: Living on a Prayer (aka we're halfway there)

We’re about half-way through the 2011 season (give or take) and the shape of the NRL ladder seems to be making itself slightly clearer. I dare say that at this juncture, every team still has the chance to make it into the finals – don’t quote me on that one though, maths and logic were never my forte (kickboxing and astronautical exploration are more me) – but it’s safe to say that not every team actually has the skill to make said finals; the Roosters and the Titans, for example. I wonder if the Roosters will continue the pattern of being shit one year, making it to the Grand Final the next, then being even shitter than the first year, then coming good again? Look out 2012, it’s the year of the chooks.

Not really, 2012 will be the year of world apocalypse according to the Mayans and John Cusack. Bad luck, Roosters.

We can safely say that the Dragons are the form team again/still, and there was one report this week of a bookie who was already paying the punters who had backed the Saints for a grand final win (to do that at this stage of the comp reeks of stupidity and sloppy PR for mine, but fuck it; it filled half a column in the sports section), while teams like Manly and the Warriors are surprising a few people by not being incredibly shit.

It has been easy (and fun) to hate Manly in the past – any team that boasted Geoff Toovey, Des Hasler, Cliff Lyons and Spud Carroll in their playing roster deserve to be hated. But their form lately has been undeniably impressive, which is definitely a turnaround from the days when they had to cheat to win games. Young players like Kieren Foran, Daly Chery-Evans and Will Hopoate, combined with old heads Bretty Stewart and Tony Watmough back on the paddock and playing well has the ratio of fans to parole officers at Brookvale Oval finally starting to even up.

Eels vs Dragons
Sharks vs Broncos
Titans vs Panthers
Bulldogs vs Sea Eagles
Roosters vs Warriors
Rabbitohs vs Storm
Tigers vs Knights

That’s an almost obscene amount of away teams that I'm tipping, which just goes to show how shithouse half of these teams are going, or how bad at tipping I really am.

Raiders vs Cowboys
There has a whole Vikingship of contention over whether Terry Campese would make this his comeback game from injury, and from all reports (the guy at the desk behind mine), the answer is “no.” This has given Josh “I’m really not as bad as you all thought I was” McCrone and Sam “TBC” Williams another chance to become the greatest halves combination in the history of the universe. Matt “I can do it coach! Just put me in the game coach!” Orford has been told to pretend he’s sick and given an all-access pass to Timezone for the week to keep him out of the way.

The Raiders’ odds of winning the premiership have also risen dramatically from a fairly outside chance of $58 to a still-fairly-outside-chance at $23 following two wins in a row… Two wins? Doesn’t take much to impress the TAB faithful, eh?

After much-improved performances against the Storm and the Doggies, Canberra has finally shown that they do have the ability to play footy, and their giant front-rowers aren’t a massive bunch of pussies. Meanwhile, the Cowbs have been racking up victories of all sorts – scrappy, gritty, come-from-behind and controlled. If the Raiders can contain Thursty Thurston for the full eighty minutes (possibly by sacrificing one of the players’ wives for him), they’ll go a long way towards giving a massive “fuck you!” to their detractors and a big ol’ “fuck you” to the rest of the comp.

Of course, if they lose, I’ll be giving them a nice “fuck you” from the grandstand. And they’ll have no choice but to love it.

PS. Go Raiders! WOO!

Alan Tongue - undisputed piggyback champion of the world

Did anyone else notice I picked another full round last week? Well I did, and you should have heard about it because I rang the whole world and sent them all email and twittered them and facebooked their inbox and even went on MySpace to let everyone know.

MEB cumulative score: 50

The only certainties in life are death, taxes and a crowbar

I don’t normally like to air my political views on this blog, unless politics have changed in a way that now recognises Neighbours, drinking games and dinosaurs as points of conjecture. I’ve just been informed that this isn't the case, which is a pity. I would totally vote for a stegosaurus for PM.

This week, actress Cate Blanchett has chucked her two cents into a scheme in which the Aussie Government proposes to charge dinkie di Aussie battlers a few bucks to offset some kind of carbon emissions. I’ll be honest, I probably do exceed my emissions quota following my Thursday burrito ritual, but I usually contain my “carbon” within my doona that night, so I reckon I am fairly neutral in that regard.

Cate reckons we should just pay up and shut the fuck up about it. This is quite easy for Ms Blanchett to say and do, seeing as she’s massively rich. If I earned $30 million from appearing in movies so underground that they never get released, I’d be feeling quite generous myself and would probably feel ok about telling other people to shell out some more taxes. She has defended her position by pointing out the solar panels on the roof of her mansion and declaring that carbon emissions are close to her heart and she’d do anything to get the word out there. By the way, Cate Blanchett and her rich thespian family live in a mansion that they bought for $10.2 million.

Three years later, they renovated it.

If I bought a house for $10 mill, it’d want to be the most fucking perfect house I’d ever seen, with a bat-pole connecting the lounge room to the kitchen and a room dedicated to practicing handstands. Here’s an idea, Blanchey – you pay for everyone else’s shit and carry on being a great actor. Your work in Lord of the Rings was brilliant – you shared the screen with Hollywood legends like the kid from The Goonies, the bloke from Lost and Steve Tyler’s daughter.

I am not a rich man – hell, I’m barely even a man (but I’m going into surgery again next week, so that should be rectified pronto), but I am also not living below the poverty line; I can still keep myself fed with Corn Flake sandwiches and jars of pickles. I wear cardigans that I didn’t rack from someone’s clothesline (I fucking love cardigans) and don’t have to whore myself out to pay the rent (I do it for the love of it). If I choose to spend my whole salary on beef jerky (and don't think I haven't thought about it), then that's up to me. I don’t particularly enjoy copping instructions from a motherfucking actor about paying a tax for something I'm not entirely sure I contribute a whole lot to. The Chinese produce about 22% of the world's carbon emissions (compared to Australia's 1.3%) - put your super-stardom to work in China if you're that passionate. I'm sure they care as much about your solar panels as I do.

Fuck off Cate, before I tax the shit spelling of your name. It’s hurting my spell-check.

NRL 2011 - Round 12: I pick all home teams (spoiler warning)

Following the circus of State of Origin, we’re back into the regular NRL season again. Speaking of Origin, congratulations to the Queensland boys for their victory. It’s only fair that they won, as I’d feel bad if us southerners had teeth as well as a trophy. It’s nice to share things sometimes.

Special thanks to the Blues for trying the “pass wide from the kick off” trick I suggested last week – it would have worked if the ref didn’t ruin everyone’s fun. I am also available to coach your team so you don’t have to keep stealing my ideas. Just ask, lads.

We’re also back to full rounds of the regular season, which is always nice – it does add a bit of pressure to picking a winner though, as you’re never sure if someone is going to back up after their Origin performance, or if they’re injured, or tired or hungover or have syphilis (not to mention any names Michael Ennis) and decide at the last minute that they won’t bother playing this week because they really don’t feel like earning their salary.

The good news is that the Raiders are looking to make it three wins in a row as they take on a determined, yet ultimately unsuccessful Bye team, who are still looking for their first win in the NRL.

Sea Eagles vs Broncos
Bulldogs vs Titans
Knights vs Eels
Cowboys vs Roosters
Storm vs Sharks
Dragons vs Tigers
Panthers vs Rabbitohs

Holy shit, did they decide to make this round the one where all of the struggling teams play each other? Fuck me, what a mess.

MEB cumulative score: 43

Origin I wrap up

I almost spat my beer out when I saw that they gave Man of the Match to Cameron Smith. I’m fairly sure I saw him lining up at the bar during the game. I would have thrown the award to Petero Civenociva; the guy is about a million years old and runs around like a teenager. A giant, giant teenager.

There were some stand-out highlights during the game; Darius Boyd’s hit on Gasnier, NSW’s staunch defence on their goal line for about eighty-seven consecutive sets, Josh Dugan cutting off his Jedi-rat’s tail, the post-siren fight, the post-siren-post-fight interview with Darren Lockyer (actually, any Lockyer interview is worth its weight in lip-reading classes) and the cracking rendition of our national anthem all deserve mentions. But the Mister Evil Breakfast Special Moment Of State Of Origin I (MEBSMOSOOI) was hearing Peter Sterling use the phrase “Welcome to the X-Men: First Class half time break” as if it was the most normal sentence he’s ever uttered.

Sterlo’s mutant ability is the power to keep a straight face.

It's such a graceful game

State of Origin WOO

Is there a better time of year for a die-hard rugby league fan other than Origin time? Yes actually, especially if that person is from NSW, as those useless blue-jersey-wearing-nancy-boys are too busy making sure their mascara isn’t running and swapping stories about the time they thought they saw Justin Bieber at Coles to worry about turning up to tackle a QLD player. You see, in the beginning, God created dinosaurs... and that was pretty much the last time that NSW won a game of footy (it was an epic battle that ultimately saw the NSW T-rex step around the QLD Stegosaurus, whose spines proved far less effective in defence than previously thought) to score in the corner and seal the victory in the final minutes of the game. The media was all over the QLD coach following the selection of the Stego over the more highly fancied Ankylosaurus, whose form during the season had been outstanding. The Stego was dropped for the following game and cancelled his contract with the NRL that year, opting to finish his career in the UK Super League and ultimately died in a tar pit accident.

Sad story, but all of it is completely true, except the part about the dinosaurs.

2011 offers NSW their best chance to exact revenge on their maroon-coloured counterparts as they’ve finally picked a five-eighth to play in the five-eighth position, a hooker to play in the hooker position (and a back-up hooker in case he’s shit, and knowing Michael Ennis, he will be) and some big blokes in the middle to bash it out with the other big blokes. It’s a decent team, despite the inclusion of Michael Jennings.

If NSW does has an obvious weak spot, it’s the defensive capabilities of the halves combination of Jamie “About Time You Fucking Picked Me” Soward and Mitchell “Mitchell Pearce” Pearce, who are both professional bullfighters in their spare time, and pride themselves on managing to dodge anything more aggressive than a startled grasshopper that happens to run in their general direction. However, Sowie has a great kicking game, is quick off the mark, looks a treat in headgear and is a decent goal kicker, so we can forgive him his shortcomings when it comes to tackling. Fucked if I’d want to do it either (which is probably why I’ve been left out of the team AGAIN).

QLD have their usual assortment of troops lining up to have their wives and girlfriends touched up by Jonathon Thurston, Lockyer is already gargling sulphuric acid, and Jharal Yow Yeh is wondering if that is seriously his real name, or if it’s a practical joke that no-one has ever had the heart to tell him “Dude, your name is really Frank Jones.” Decent player, yes, but if I had to choose between Jharal and my vacuum cleaner as a lifeline on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire, you know that busted ol’ Hoovex is getting the call.

This game will hopefully be a more closely-contested game than in previous years – it did become demoralizing watching the lead-up interviews with the Queensland players trying to keep a straight face when asked how they were going to ‘contain Kurt Gidley.’ Their response was straight from the book: “He’s a definite threat, for sure, but we have to ensure that we don’t just focus on him, as there are gamebreakers right across the park for New South Wales,” instead of the more honest and accurate: “Did they really pick him? Now I don’t feel bad at all for drinking that whole bottle of tequila on the way here.”

MEB’s prediction

Head to head, I think as far as forwards go, NSW have better ball-players than their bogan cousins from up north, and as much as I hate to admit it, Paul “I’m not entirely sure I’m not from Queensland” Gallen is about as hard a bloke as you’re going to find this side of Brick Shithouse Island.

Queensland have the upper hand in the halves with seasoned performers Thurston and Lockyer directing the gorilla army around the field, and will be at their most dangerous if Thurston can continue his form from the regular season for this game. If he can be handled early in the game by the NSW boofheads, he’ll lose his temper and start looking for desperate passes, and will rely too much on Billy “the Rat” Slater with his inside balls (heheh). For NSW, Soward will be buoyed by the fact that he is surrounded by his St George team-mates, and should avoid passing to Mitchell Pearce at all costs.

The battle of the fullbacks should go to the abovementioned Rat, as Josh “At Least I’m Not Jarryd Hayne” Dugan battles niggling injuries and ordinary form coming into the game. However, with limited preparation time, Dugan will be expected only to perform adequately, so any fullback wizardry that he can pull out of his infected armpit will stand out like Akuila Uate in the NSW line-up. As long as he does enough to keep Hayne away for Game 2, I’ll be happy. He might want to try and actually tackle in this game though; something he hasn’t really attempted since 2009.

The match up between the wingers appears to be pretty even between the outside four. Let’s be honest though, if a game is won or lost due to these blokes, it probably means it has been a fairly average game to watch. I do like Morris though, he seems like a good kid. He can definitely buy me a beer one day.

Summing up (you thought I was going to do that in the previous bit, didn’t you?)

Ummmmm. QLD by a couple, but not as many as they probably reckon.

Squinting: Not as effective as ducking

NRL Round 11: Shmate of Shmorigin

First of all, I have no fucking idea what happened to my font and formatting for last week’s blog; when I posted it the whole thing looked fine – so fine, in fact, that I was tempted to make sweet, sweet love to it (but didn’t) (yes I did) – and when I checked it sometime over the weekend to boost my blog ranking, the whole thing looked shithouse. So I apologise if people out there were waiting for my all-knowing knowledge and feel let down. If you feel this way, I give you permission to yell abuse at me when you drive past me on the street. Sometimes my awesomeness exceeds the limits that ‘default settings’ can allow.

Onto Round Eleven!

The teams for State of Origin (part 1) were announced on the weekend, with a couple of positions raising a few eyebrows (personally, I raised three) with their choice of personnel to fill out a jumper. On the NSW front, I wouldn’t have picked Michael Jennings over Jamal Idris for starters, and in a discussion that I dreamt about, Jennings agrees.

“My form has been pretty shithouse for a few weeks now, MEB,” said Jennings. “Sometimes I’m not even sure if I have been playing, such is the low impact of my performances this year. Besides, if you had to choose between a bloke called Michael and a guy called Jamal, who would you pick?"

"An excellent point. I also think that the name Jamal would take away the power of Jharal, who is making his Origin debut."

"Jharal is a pretty special name. It's not quite a name or word AND it has an H in it that doesn't really belong."

"Michael Jennings, thanks for your time."

"No worries MEB. By the way, I play for Penrith.”

"Sure you do."

Then he turned into a peacock and flew away, and I know that peacocks can’t actually do that. That’s how I knew I was in a dream and I was getting all Inception on myself.

The State of Origin award for Most Sought After Position was given to the fullback slot, and Josh “I’ll play when I want to” Dugan accepted the award in place of Jarryd “Superfluous Y” Hayne (make that two), while the All My Team Mates Get A Game, What About Me? trophy was given to Dean Young, despite the fact there are about forty-seven better hookers in the NRL at any given time.

QLD were dealt a couple of blows (hehe) with their centre pairing of Greg “Me Get More Money Now” Inglis and Justin “Pass the ball? Never heard of it” Hodges being ruled out with wallet strains. A couple of numpties were brought in to replace them in the shape of Dane “Who?” Neilson and Willie “Oh that guy” Tonga. If NSW have any balls at all (TBC), they should throw the ball wide to Gasnier from the kick-off and let him dance around both of these guys in a 90m run, in a somewhat similar fashion to “the Girdler try” of the 2000 series.

State of Origin is a special time. It stirs up an ancient magic called Queenslander Pride, which works like Roger Ramjet’s Proton-Energy Pills, and anyone wearing a maroon-coloured shirt gains superhuman powers. I honestly think that the superpowers are more in the form of being better footy players than the opposition, but if you explain that to a Queenslander, you just get grunted at before they head off to scratch their back against the bark of a tree. God bless you, Queenslanders. You truly are an evolutionary miracle.

So with the whole shebang about Origin, there’s another split round this week as the NSW and QLD players head into camp to train, bond, rape, pillage and plunder. Some teams will feel the loss more than others, but they deserve it for hogging all the talented players.

Tigers v Panthers
Warriors v Rabbitohs
Roosters v Knights
Eels v Sharks

Canberra vs Bulldogs

Another shithouse performance by the Raiders last week saw them remain cemented on the… wait… what? They won? Well fuck me in the eye with a spanner.

This is undoubtedly the beginning of a charge to the Grand Final for the mighty Green Machine as they dig deep and find some Territory Pride in the pits of their stomach to notch up another win. The Raiders are on a bit of a roll, having won their last game and now have one victory in a row, equalling their best performance so far from this year set in round one.

Seriously, get on board the Green Wagon. It’s not going to stop.

The Wolfman was in an instant coma after 'planking' and has only just woken up

MEB cumulative score: 42

Oh Mr Sheen

Following the rapid decline of Charlie Sheen’s sanity and integrity, he was fired from the “hit television show” Two and a Half Men, in which he played one of the Men, whose name I believe was Charlie. If I was in a sitcom, I’d make the character I was playing be named Mister Evil Breakfast as well, because I have a bad memory and would forget which person I was meant to be playing. When I was in kindergarten, my class put on a Christmas play for our parents, and I was picked to play one of the Three Wise Men (obviously) who sought out the baby Jesus and gave it gold, frankincense and myrrh. I do love me some myrrh for birthdays. Anyway, in order to give all of the kids in the class a role, we used a bit of creative license with the Bible story and introduced three kings and three shepherds who were also following the Star to the manger in which Jesus (aka Cindy the Cabbage Patch Kid) lay.

During the rehearsals, my teacher said to me, “Mister Evil Breakfast, you are Wise Man Number Two. You walk out after Wise Man Number One and before Wise Man Number Three. But first you wait for the Three Kings and then the Three Shepherds.” With Mrs Kindyteacher spouting off all of those names, I got terribly confused. This is why there were four Kings (one of whom was carrying myrrh, did not have a crown and was pulled off stage by his teacher when he was halfway to the manger) who went to meet Jesus, followed by four shepherds (one of whom was carrying myrrh, did not have a shepherd’s crook and was pulled off stage by his teacher when he was halfway to the manger) and then two Wise Men who were carrying gold and frankincense, followed by a third Wise Man (and his teacher) who was quite frankly a bit apprehensive about joining any more parties on their way to the birth of the messiah, and didn’t want to give up his myrrh when he got there anyway. This is probably why I heckle the priest at church on Christmas Eve. Also, because I’m drunk on Communion wine (and tequila).

About 27 years after my sparkling performance in my kindergarten play which no doubt inspired Charlie Sheen’s acting career, Sheensie was fired from acting as himself on Two and a Half Men following mad cocaine binges with porn stars, prostitutes and according to Sheen himself, ‘a two-headed unicorn from Neptune’ and then firing up his Twitter account to hurl abuse and speak gibberish at anyone who would listen. Without its main attraction, the show has been on ‘hiatus’ as the geniuses at the studio try to work out what to do with this fucking retarded but ultimately insanely popular program.

In a recent announcement, it was decided that Two and a Half Men will be cancelled in the not-too-distant future. To ensure that this is done properly, the producers have hired a Hollywood euthanasia expert in the form of Ashton Kutcher to perform this tricky procedure. Under the watchful eye of Dr Kutcher, the high-rating sitcom will be revived from its current coma before being choked until it is dead, kicked a few times and drowned in battery acid (with a hint of paprika). Then they’ll kick it again just for shits and giggles and set it on fire.

Kutcher was quoted as saying, “Don’t worry, I can kill this show off, regardless of its success. I’ve done it a thousand times before.” He has also shown interest in joining the cast of Merlin and it is rumoured that he will appear in a handful of episodes of Winners and Losers.

NRL Round 10: Back to bidness

After the short round last week, we’re back into the swing of the regular season for Round 10. There are still a few question marks over some of these games though, as players start resting themselves for representative honours with the State of Origin squads to be named in the next few days.

On the topic of Origin, a player I’d like to stab in the face with a ball-point pen and then kick in the throat a few times while he tries to extract said pen from his eye socket (ew) is Mark Gasnier. “Gaz” is a disgrace to Gaz’s all over the world as he has pulled out of this round’s game against the Doggies but has declared himself “right” for Origin. In fact, Mark Fuckbag Gaz Gasnier has even been picked as a front-runner for the NSW captaincy.

Oh, I’m sorry Fuckbag - if you want to win Lotto, you have to buy a ticket. You can’t just waltz into the newsagent and demand your $20 million (I’ve tried, it just doesn’t work). Gaz is a shining example of a major scourge in the NRL at the moment – too many self-appointed fucking champions of the world who think they deserve knighthoods just for turning up, lobbing a ball around and then limping off with a “niggling hamstring injury” before returning the week after to play a shithouse team where they can star. You want to play Origin, dickhead? Turn up and play well for your club. You want the captaincy, fuckbag? Try showing a bit of leadership. Sometimes it takes more than a face four-times-too-small-for-your-head to achieve things in life; you may have to actually work for this one.

Such a waste - there are starving African children who have no heads, and Gas has this monstrosity

Other news around the traps states that the Sharks “may sledge” Todd Carney in his return game for the Roosters this week. Wow Sharks, you guys are rad. In another breaking story, boys have a penis and girls have a vagina. Any team that doesn’t sledge Carney should be delisted from the NRL and sent back to the lesbian hippie commune that they came from.

This is how you sledge

Bulldogs v Dragons
Panthers v Broncos
Cowboys v Eels
Rabbitohs v Tigers
Knights v Warriors
Sharks v Roosters
Titans v Sea Eagles

Storm vs Raiders
Canberra coach Dave Furner has been watching his back every time he leaves his house this week as the Raiders fans yearn for his blood following a fairly fucking disastrous start to the season. However, he has pulled what will prove itself to be either ‘a master stroke,’ ‘another monumental fuck-up,’ ‘sheer laziness,’ or 'I don't give a fuck anymore' in naming the same side to play the Storm that lost 20-0 to Manly.

I guess there’s really not much else to try other than to keep the same idiots on the field to get some kind of continuity going. As the saying goes, “if a million monkeys typed on a million typewriters for a million years, they would write the complete works of Shakespeare.” The Raiders have a roster of seventeen monkeys and about eighty minutes to put together a decent game of footy. As much as I love them, I can’t help but think they'll need a few extra monkeys and a bit more time to notch up a win this week. And a tank.

MEB cumulative score: 38

Say it's not true!

Leading the newsfeed on my monitor as I checked my email instead of doing work last week was the devastating news that Ryan Phillippe had announced his retirement from acting. I will let you insert your own line about whether or not he actually ever began acting in the first place; personally I can’t remember him being in a movie since he did that one where Buffy and Selma Blair make out.

I am not sure what ‘retiring from acting’ actually means; I understand all of the words in that phrase, but together it just doesn’t quite make sense. Retirement conjures up the image of an old bloke pottering around in his garden before putting on his long socks and sensible shoes and heading down to the RSL for a midi of light beer and a sneaky slap on the pokies every Tuesday afternoon. At age 36, I have a suspicion that Ryan Phillippe would look out of place having a chat with Old Barry, who tries to pack his pipe with shaking hands while telling you about the time he saw Don Bradman bat.

Let’s be honest, an actor is traditionally not an essential cog in anyone’s machine (“Oh no, Two and a Half Men isn’t on!” “Oh no, there’s no more episodes of Sea Patrol!” “The Logies are way more interesting this year,”) so I am somewhat bewildered by Phillippe’s announcement. It’s not like he’s integral to any particular field - he is not a pioneer of medical science, nor is he a forward-thinking world leader. He’s not risking his life for others, and he’s not digging wells in Pakistan. To be perfectly Francis, he’s not even much of an actor.

The impact of Phillippe’s announcement is yet to be fully appreciated. While it means that there is one less smarmy actor with dimples, good hair and nice teeth gracing our screens, I doubt even the most hardened studio executives will be crying into their cocaine for the loss. “We’ll just get that guy from The Social Network instead,” they’ll say. “Or the guy who played Darth Vader in the Star Wars prequels,” they’ll say. “Maybe we could call Jake Gyllenhall,” they’ll say. “Can we coax Phillippe out of retirement?” they will not say.

What does it really mean to retire from acting, rather than ‘couldn’t be arsed going for an audition’ anyway? I think the term he meant was 'quitting acting.' That way, he can try and land himself a regular job to keep the rent paid, the bills off the fridge and the hair gel plentiful. I would like to imagine Ryan Phillippe plonking himself down in an interview for a desk job that pays $45,000 a year and explaining the gaps in his work history.

“You don’t seem to have any office experience in your resume, Mr Phillippe.”
“I was in that movie where I hooked up with Reese Witherspoon.”
“Yes…”
“I was also in 54.”
“…”
“…”
“Nobody saw that.”
“My mum did.”
“No she didn’t.”
“I could act like an office worker.”
“…”
“…”
“No you couldn’t.”

Sometime in the future, there’ll be a 3D superhero spin-off movie that yearns for Ryan Phillippe to come out of retirement, just once (and once more for the sequel). Good luck filling that void.

NRL 2011 Round 9: It’s Bin a Big Week

With the events of the last seven days, it’s hard to imagine that life will ever be quite the same again. It has been an historic part of our lives, and depending on which way you look at it, it’s either the end of a chapter, or the beginning of a whole new story.

Sometimes writing about rugby league teams facing off against each other seems fairly insignificant when you think about it, especially when you consider what we have experienced in the last week. And as the USA celebrates, the rest of the world can only wonder “what’s next?”

I just cannot believe that Mariah Carey has given birth to twins.
I thought (hoped) she was dead.

Round 9 of the NRL marks the beginning of the “Representative Season” as the Kangaroos take on the Kiwis, City takes on Country, the State of Origin teams get named and the St Mary’s Under-12 round-robin tournament begins. As a result, there’s only a handful (or two handfuls if you have small hands) of regular NRL games to tip this week, many of which will be difficult pick as the exact make-up of each side will be uncertain until kick-off and will probably have more players from the Under-12s than regular first-graders in any case.

I tipped a full round last week (and a big FUCK YOU to everyone who said my tips were all shit and I’d be better off practicing my blow job technique on a loaded shotgun THANKS VERY MUCH MUM) so the pressure is on this week to continue my winning ways.

In interesting NRL news, the video referee has been stood down for this round following repeated poor performances this year. I’m pretty sure this is the first time in the history of sport that a piece of equipment has been sent to the reserve grade to hone their technique.

“Sorry Schumacher, you’re performing quite well, but your car is out for the next race. Good luck with that.”
“The Bulls and the Knicks will contest this game without a ball, who has been relegated following disciplinary action.”
“Hey Ponting, we think that your bat is in good touch, but you really aren’t up to scratch, so we’re sending you to Shield cricket for a few weeks. Also, your box has been made captain. And your left pad is vice.”

Australia vs NZ
City vs Country
Broncos vs Storm
Titans vs Warriors
Dragons vs Cowboys

Sea Eagles vs Raiders

Dear Raiders,

Thank you for your application to be the spokespeople for Johnson & Johnson’s Cotton Wool Balls. Unfortunately, you have been deemed ‘too soft’ for this role and your application will not progress any further.

Regards

Some Cotton Wool Making Guy at Johnson & Johnson’s

Last week’s performance by the mighty mighty mighty fucking fucked-up fucking Raiders rates amongst their worst ever, and they will be keen to restore a bit of pride as they attempt to avoid equalling their all-time losing streak.

For the stoush against Manly this week, both teams have a few players backing up from rep games, so this should be a fairly evenly-contested contest that will be contested fairly evenly. However, since it’s the Raiders, they will all injure themselves in the warm-up to the City-Country extravaganza (possibly stepping off the bus and breaking a pelvis) and should carry on their excellent form from this year and come away with another resounding loss. Come on boys, you can do it. EIGHT IN A ROW WOO!

Seriously Raiders, I love you. But you’re bringing me down.

Canberra prop Dave Shillington tries out the new training gear at Raiders HQ to strengthen his index fingers.

MEB cumulative score: 35

Now we all know what goulash is

Another year of MasterChef is upon us (WOO!). Another year where pretty people cook pretty things pretty badly. A chance for three unattractive blokes with aprons but without personalities to become, by definition, personalities themselves. MasterChef lets people get all “oooh that sounds very nice!” about some bloke’s eggplant and baby octopus flavoured biscuits, simply because he speaks with a French accent, wears a stupid hat and is selling said biccies at $8 a pop.

Despite the Channel Ten execs promoting this season of MasterChef as ‘entirely different’ to previous years, it appears that it’s going to be more of the same rubbish, with the focus on the tension and drama between the contestants who break down in tears at the first sign of their cucumber and mountain-goat soufflé sticking to the baking tin, instead of concentrating on showing them cooking, learning how to cook or talking to each other about cooking. The promos released by the network show the contestants doing boot camps, living without power and climbing a fucking mountain – none of which is entirely helpful when you’re trying to win a cooking contest. Athletes trying out for the 100m sprint event at the Olympics aren’t asked to roast a pheasant before they’re allowed on the track. An accountant doesn’t have to balance an egg on its point while singing the Home and Away theme song before his firm gives him a job. Why the fuck would anyone care how useless some fucking idiot is at putting up a tent while they’re camping in the bush when the basis of the show is about putting crap in a pan and heating it up properly? If they get a job as a chef, I don’t care if they can juggle chainsaws or whittle wood – as long as they can cook my fucking steak, I’m happy.

The 2011 season of MasterChef continues its proudly annoying tradition of appealing to the 6% of Australians who are blind – not counting me on Saturday nights through to Monday mornings – by getting the contestants to recap exactly what is being shown on the screen as it happens.

Vision:
Big fat Matt Preston is standing in a room holding a box. Contestants walk into the room and stand in front of big fat Matt Preston.

Audio:
Contestant #1: “So we walked into, you know, this room and there was Matt holding a box. I couldn’t help but wonder what was in that box, you know?”
Contestant #2: “I just want to know what’s in that box.”
Contestant #8: “Oooh. A box.”

Vision:
Close up of big fat Matt Preston as he speaks to the contestants, his jowls moving hypnotically in slow motion.

Audio:
Big fat Matt Preston: “I bet you’re all wondering what’s in this box.”
Contestant #3: “And he says, ‘I bet you’re all wondering what’s in this box,’ and I was like, ‘Yes, I am wondering what’s in that box.’”
Contestant #4: “I mean, anything could have been in that box. I just wanted to know what it was.”
Contestant #9: “What’s in that box? I think we were all wondering it.”
Contestant #10: “I was definitely wondering what was in the box.”

Vision:
Big fat Matt Preston opens the lid of the box, but the contents are obscured to the viewers and contestants.

Audio:
Contestant #1: “Then Matt opens the box. I couldn’t see what was in it; no one really could see. I just knew that it was, you know, a mystery.”
Contestant #7: “I really want to know what’s in that box. I was really nervous not knowing the contents of the box. And then Matt tells us what’s in the box.”
Contestant #8: “So Matt tells us what’s in the box. After so much anticipation, it was a great relief to hear what was in the box.”

Vision:
Fat Matt Preston talking (and sweating slightly).

Audio:
Fatt Matt Preston: “Asparagus!”
Contestant #7,320: “Asparagus!”
Contestant #54: “Asparagus?”
Contestant #92: “I would not have guessed asparagus. I was thinking it might be fish. Or mangoes. But not asparagus.”
Contestant #8: “Ha, asparagus. You have to hand it to Matt Preston. I mean, no one would have expected that box to have asparagus in it. Wow. Asparagus.”

The next scene will have the contestants doing some kind of test where they have to walk through a room with saucepans on their feet while making the least amount of sound to win the opportunity to have first pick of the asparagus. No one will learn anything about cooking with asparagus, asparagus recipes or nutritional asparagus information, but a running commentary of a bunch of dickheads walking across a room with saucepans on their feet will be provided (“And I was walking across the room with saucepans on my feet and then I fell over.”)

The next thing we’ll see (and hear about) is one of the contestants making some kind of asparagus and white rhino goulash. We don’t know how they made it, what they're putting into it, why they opted for the subtle flavour of white rhino over the stronger taste of an African elephant, or even what the fuck a goulash is. We just see them goulashing away in various states of crying, while saying, “I turned the heat up to a million because I was running out of time,” while showing us a close-up of the stove and a shot of the clock, instead of hearing “a goulash is a European stew with meat and vegetables, and is usually seasoned with paprika and other spices. I think the rhino meat will add a nice consistency to the goulash but not overpower the taste of asparagus, which will make our pee smell funny tomorrow.”

While it’s nice for MasterChef producers to cater (see what I did there?) to our vision-impaired friends, I’m going out on a limb and saying that there probably aren’t a whole lot of blind people with massive ambitions to become chefs. There's something about a lack of sight combined with sharp knives, boiling pots of water and hot pans of oil that kind of turns people away. It would be mildly entertaining to watch for a while though.

This year’s series has already given us a local hero – John Hughes (sadly, not the bloke who wrote and directed The Breakfast Club, because he's dead [although that's a whole new reality show in the making: "Weekend at Bernie's MasterChef auditions"]) – has been awarded some kind of bravery medal for not serving up any food at all. I know quality is everything, but if I was in a restaurant and the waiter brought me a nice white plate with a napkin on it, I don’t think I’d be too happy. I wouldn’t run up to him and start licking his hand while dry-humping his leg while praising him for not cooking me food. If I was going to do that, I'd just stay home and go nuts on my ironing board (hello Thursday).

However, good luck to everyone involved in the show. I look forward to ordering a Big Mac from you when the contest is over, and you'd better not fuck with the sauce.

Last year’s winner Adam has gone onto great things including playing Funzo in an episode of The Simpsons

Mithter Evil Breakfatht'th Thor Review

All bow down to MIGHTY THOR!

It has been a while since I reviewed a movie on here – it’s actually been a long time since I decided to shell out some coin to see a flick at the cinema – but I can happily report that I was sober enough to see Thor last week.

Thor is the first ‘superhero’ movie to come out this year (by my hazy recollection), and will be closely followed by Captain America, The Green Lantern and a new X-Men film that’s set about 40 years before the first X-Men film. Then we’ll have the new Spiderman movie (which takes the place of the old Spiderman movies), a third Batman flick, another Superman film (taking the place of both the first and last Superman movies) and then The Avengers film, which combines the Iron Man, Hulk, Captain America and Thor movies into one gigantic roll of film.

Got it? Easy as fucking pie. Not literally fucking pie though. That would just be weird (and a waste of a pie… or is it?).

Even Thor himself would probably admit that he isn’t as well known as superheroes like Batman and Spiderman, but is slightly more recognisable than guys like Deadpool or Cable. So don’t feel too bad if you don’t know who Thor is down to the last hair on his pretty little face. Let’s just say that he’s the Norse God of Thunder who lives in a world called Asgard; otherwise it gets confusing and all the fanboys crack boners about inconsistencies and oversights from Issue #592 where he finds out he’s not a god and is actually an alien. It’s stupid, so let’s just say he’s a god.

Here’s the movie in a paragraph:
Thor adopts the policy of “a good offence is the best offence” and duly goes on the offensive against a race of other beings called the Frost Giants who threaten Asgard’s safety. It doesn’t quite go to plan, and everyone is angry when the peace treaty between the Giants and the peeps of Asgard is jeopardised. To teach Thor a lesson in humility, his dad (Odin) banishes him to Earth without his super strength or his super hammer, Mjollnir (and you learn how to actually pronounce it, which is nice. I still prefer my own way, which starts with “M” and ends with me mumbling into my hand while I cough). On Earth, Thor meets Natalie Portman, eats some eggs, learns a few lessons, goes out drinking… you know, much the same as anyone else’s weekend.

And it all goes pretty fucking well, in my most humble opinion (it’s not humble at all). Asgard looks cool, Earth looks the way I imagine it looks, and the performances are all very decent, which is the one thing I was slightly worried about from the trailers and nerdblogs that I had been haunting prior to the movie’s release.

Chris Hemsworth plays the titular character (I only wrote that so I could say “tit”), who people may remember as “that guy from Home and Away.” Apparently since leaving Summer Bay, he has been busy eating rice, chicken breast and small planets, as he seems to have become (and I quote) “the world’s largest individual.” I thought he did a good job as acting like the God of Thunder without coming off as a massive loser – probably better than I would have done – and actually gets to show a bit of emotion (the Mjollnir scene at SHIELD headquarters was a standout). Some of the dialogue is a bit tacky, but when you’re dealing with this kind of story, you get that. I also spent a lot of the movie thinking, “Fuck that guy looks like Lubers,” who is a bloke I went to school with. I never realised how attractive Lubers was (sorry Lubers).

There were also enough nods to the Marvel comics geeks out there (hello!) to keep them happy (although no real nerd is ever happy enough with anything to keep them off the forums for long), with the introduction of Hawkeye, mentions of Thor’s original alter-ego Donald Blake, the obligatory cameo from Stan Lee and a bigger role for the SHIELD crew who have been working for a couple of movies now to assemble the Avengers (some people will see what I did there).

As is everything in the year 2011, there’s a 3D version of Thor out there. I saw the movie in 2D, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t miss anything by seeing it with a missing dimension. 3D movies are all fucking stupid anyway, and they give me headaches. Plus, those glasses are expensive and I’m working on a budget here.

If I had to nitpick anything about the flick, I’d say that there probably needed to be a few more fight scenes, and maybe a bit more of Thor learning some Earthian shit; I mean, the guy has come from a place where everyone wears leather armour and ornamental helmets in their day-to-day, and suddenly he’s in a place with skinny jeans and mobile phones. But these are minor quibbles, and any movie that makes me speak like a Norse god with a slightly British accent for hours after I’ve left the cinema is never a bad thing.

This was a good movie. NEXT!

Pew pew pew!

NRL 2011 Round 8: Coaches and dinner and that

I have to admit that I didn’t really pay attention to the footy over the Easter ANZAC break, so I’m just going to assume that Todd Carney got pissed and started strangling kittens with panda intestines (and not in the good way). You know, just business as usual.

However, in real news according to the googlebox, St George coach Wayne Bennett has been signed by Newcastle, Penrith coach Matt Elliot was fired by the Panthers who are chasing Tigers coach Tim Sheens, and Raiders coach Dave Furner is sweating like a badger in a wetsuit about his future. Because if a coach can’t make his team catch the ball, who can? The players? You must be kidding.

“Overpaid League Player, you dropped a lot of ball out there today.”

“Yeah we did, Stating-The-Obvious-Journalist; it just wasn’t in our game plan.”

“Catching the ball wasn’t part of your game plan?”

“Yeah. Our coach went through the plan and that with the boys and that before the game, you know, in the sheds and that, and he mentioned tackling and getting numbers in defence and that, but you know, he didn’t say anything about catching and that. And at the end of the day, I reckon that was probably what was missing in our game.”

“…”

“…and that.”

“…”

“I’d just like to give a shout out to my girlfriend Sharon, who’s giving birth for the first time today. Thanks to Channel Nine and Toyota.”

“…”

“…and that.”

“…thanks Overpaid League Player, better luck next week.”

So it seems that there are some coaching shifts afoot, which always throws a bit of chilli into the chicken when it comes to picking your footy tips. Are the teams happy to have the fat trimmed off the bacon? Do they realise you have to break a few eggs to make an omelette? Or are they trying to turn a pork chop into a t-bone? (sorry, just thinking about some dinner options for tonight) Whatever the case is (probably spaghetti, to be perfectly Francine), teams always perform unpredictably when a coaching change occurs.

Except the Raiders, they will still suck.

Broncos v Bulldogs

Rabbitohs v Sharks

Titans v Roosters

Cowboys v Sea Eagles

Storm v Knights

Warriors v Panthers

Dragons v Eels

Raiders v Tigers

The more astute among you will probably have noticed that I have tipped all home teams this week… except the Raiders. The most astute of you will have noticed that I used the word ‘astute’ and didn’t have to look up its meaning. I like you guys.

What’s left to talk about with the mighty fucking Raiders? They have a strong team on paper, a good record of playing at home and a lovely green jumpie to wear, but it’s just not coming together at the moment. If it was going to come together, it probably would have done so against Newcastle last weekend, when the Green Machine sputtered to a grinding, noisy, messy halt after about 60 minutes and let the match slip between their slimy webbed fingers. With each loss comes more pressure, and with more pressure comes more mistakes. I don’t see this week as being a good one for us (again).

Once the team starts looking at giving it up for the year and begins planning for the 2012 season, we might even win a few games.

And that makes me a sad Raiderfan.

This is about as scary as the Raiders have been this year

MEB cumulative score: 27